


Not For Nothing

by sweetsuesparrow



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Enemies to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Tactical flirting to real flirting, and we explore why in painstaking detail, canon compliant enough to hurt, how hux became the spy, present workplace abuse, this is very much not a fix it fic, we are here to suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 157,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsuesparrow/pseuds/sweetsuesparrow
Summary: Armitage Hux has been called all manner of terrible things - a tyrant, a coward, a bastard, a rat - and he is all of those things and worse, but above all else, he is a survivor.  All his life, he has done what was necessary to protect himself and the First Order.After a mission gone wrong, Hux finds himself imprisoned on an ice planet with none other than Poe Dameron as his cellmate.  This time, he must accept, survival means working with his nemesis.As the two plot their escape, and in the weeks that follow it, the General is forced to confront the reality of the cruel Galaxy that created him, and the even crueler one that he has created.  After a lifetime of fighting to prove he is strong enough to survive, Armitage Hux realizes that the best and bravest thing he’ll ever do is die.He doesn’t turn for Poe Dameron, but he never could have done it without him.
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Armitage Hux, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 188
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's quarantined and has nothing better to do than get sad about Armitage Hux?

The Unknown Regions _,_ 22 Years Before

“Last?” Brendol Hux glared across his desk. The dim yellow light of his lamp and the blue glow of his computer cast strange shadows which deepened the creases in his face, making his frown lines seem a mile deep. “You finished last out of all the cadets in your cohort?”

Armitage looked down at his hands, twisting and untwisting in his lap. “I’m sorry father. They ...they said I still made good time.” The last sentence was a life line, something he knew would not work but still cast out desperately, hoping it might earn him a little mercy.

“Damn it, boy stop making excuses!” His father slammed a fist down on the table, hard enough to make his drink slosh over the sides of its glass. Armitage flinched instinctively, knowing how easily those fists could be redirected from the table to something - or someone - else. Grand Admiral Sloane had made his father promise to stop hitting him - but Sloane wasn’t here. “It doesn’t matter how good you are if you’re last. Out there in the galaxy, finishing last means you die”

“I’m sorry, father,” Armitage repeated, fighting the tears that were already pushing against the backs of his eyes. Crying would only make it worse. It always did. “I’ll do better next time.”

“No,” said Brendol, pushing himself back and out of his desk chair. “Not next time, now.” He grabbed Armitage’s wrist and roughly yanked him upright. “What exercise was it?”

“The pit. We had to climb out of a pit.” His whole body still ached from the strain of it.

Brendol pulled him out of his office and down the hall toward the lift. “You’re going back into that pit,” he said, “and you’re going to climb out of it as many times as it takes to get your time down.”

___

The Outer Rim, Two Months Before

Over the course of his thirty-five years, General Hux had thought a great deal about how he might die. It was never a question that he might go from old age. People like him never did. When he was a child he thought his father might kill him. Brendol had threatened to do it plenty of times and once or twice his beatings had come close. In the end though, Hux - or more accurately Hux and Phasma - had taken care of the old man first. For the longest time Hux was sure Snoke would end him. After the fiasco that had been Starkiller Base, he had fully expected to be executed for his failure. He had almost hoped for it - at least then he wouldn’t have to live with the shame. But he had outlived Snoke too. Now, he was certain, it was only a matter of time before Kylo Ren - he refused to think of the man as Supreme Leader - ended up killing him. It wouldn’t be some nefarious plot or an official execution - it might not even be on purpose. It was only a matter of time before one of his violent outbursts went too far. Of course, he hoped it would be more dignified than that - that he might at least get a shot in first - but the odds were not good. What he had never expected, or at least had never planned for, was being shot down by some lowly X-Wing over some frigid, backwater ice planet. And yet here he was. 

The light transport ship wasn’t built for combat. The first shot knocked out the navigation console, sending sparks and acrid black smoke spilling into the cabin. 

“We’re hit!” Cried the pilot, coughing and gagging on the fumes. 

“Navigation’s out, hyperdrive’s shot too sir,” the navigator looked frantically between Hux and the console, as if she didn’t know which scared her more.

Hux sprang from his seat to get a better look at the viewport.

“An X-Wing?” He demanded, squinting through smoke and stinging eyes at their assailant. “What the hell is a Resistance ship doing out here?” 

This was supposed to be a routine meeting with an arms supplier, a Twi-Lek calling himself Duralium, an in-and-out, contract-signing, hand-shaking affair. They were a system away from the nearest known Resistance base, their communications had been encrypted, their ship discrete. 

This shouldn’t be happening, it didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know sir,” said the pilot, “they must have tracked us somehow - or been tipped off. We’re returning fire but frankly, sir we can’t outgun them in this. We can’t outrun them either. We might be able to send a distress signal but -”

Before the man could finish his sentence, another blast rocked the transport and this time, the whole console went up in flames. The pilot jerked violently in his seat as electricity coursed through his body from the ruined controls, and then slumped over. The cabin lights flickered and went out, replaced immediately by the throbbing red glow of the backup lighting. The ship was shaking violently now, and listing hard to one side as it was caught in the gravity of the planet below. 

The navigator tried to pull her fallen comrade out of the chair but Hux grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back, “Leave him,” he barked. “He’s dead. And if we don’t think fast we’ll join him.”

The woman looked up at him, fear hardening into determination in her sweaty face. “You’re right sir. The escape pod. That’s our only option now.” She got up and started leading Hux to the back of the ship. “The planet’s mostly uninhabited, and I can’t steer us back to our supplier, but once we land I can contact the Order for an extraction. The conditions down there will be harsh but I’d rather take my chances on the surface than up here.”

Even in the heat of the moment, Hux felt a bit of pride in the navigator. Sometimes it seemed like the First Order’s officers were getting younger and younger - and they were, the longer the war dragged on and the casualties built up, the more cadets were being expedited out of training and into active duty - but they were also getting smarter, he thought, and quicker on their feet. If they survived this, he would be sure she got a promotion.

“Very good,” he said, “let’s go.” 

He gestured for the two troopers who had escorted them on the meeting to hurry along as well. It would be a tight fit in the escape pod but Hux wanted to minimize casualties - they’d need all the men they could get to survive this, especially if the X-Wing followed them to the planet’s surface. 

The pod launched just as the ship was lost to the gravity of the planet below, plummeting down leaving a trail of smoke behind it. For a moment, Hux thought they might have survived the worst of it, that perhaps the X-Wing’s pilot would think them dead and give up. 

No such luck. As the navigator steered the unwieldy ship down toward the frozen world below, the resistance ship turned its guns toward the escape pod.

“Hold on,” called the navigator, “this thing isn’t built for evasive maneuvers.”

The ship lurched hard to one side, barely avoiding the X-Wing’s fire. Hux gasped as he was thrown as far out of his seat as the straps would allow and then violently jerked back down.

“The goal is to get us out _alive_ , isn’t it?” He asked between pants.

“My apologies General, I haven’t finished my flight training, I’m still only qualified as a navigator.”

Hux swallowed the urge to make some quip about how that wasn’t very comforting to hear. It wasn’t what she needed right now. Instead he asked “What’s your name?”

“Rheese, sir,” she said, “Lieutenant Rheese.”

They were entering the planet’s atmosphere now, turbulence shaking the pod as the air heated around them.

“Well, Lieutenant Rheese,” he said, “if you get us out of here in one piece I will personally see to it that you are granted your pilot’s license. In fact, if you get us out of here, I will make you my personal pilot.” He didn't know if he meant it - it didn’t matter if he meant it - he could figure that out later. She needed the encouragement if she was going to keep them alive. 

The woman looked back over her shoulder again, almost smiling. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the side of the shuttle exploded. They had taken a direct hit from the X-Wing’s guns. One of the stormtroopers was gone, blown out the hole in the side of the craft. Lieutenant Rheese was desperately trying to regain control of the pod, but they weren’t landing anymore, they were plummeting toward a dense, coniferous forest. 

This was supposed to be a routine meeting - he should never have gone - he never would have had to if Kylo Ren and Allegiant General Pryde hadn’t reduced him to an errand boy. Were they behind this? Was this their plan all along? Somewhere outside of his own frantic mind, he thought he heard Lieutenant Rheese shouting or pleading or praying. 

They met the forest with a crash. The needles came first, and then the branches, and then the dark.

__

The Unknown Regions, 22 Years Before

Armitage heaved himself over the side of one of the floating cubes that made up the course. The rim of the pit was so close now, one more jump and he’d be out. He could see his father standing at the edge, looking down at a stop watch running on his datapad. His time was better than the last, he already knew that, but would it be good enough? The boy jumped, catching the edge with his fingers and struggling to lift his weight up and out.

Suddenly there was a sharp, unforgiving pressure on his right hand. Brendol Hux’s impeccably polished black boot was digging into his fingers.

“Two minutes and twenty-six seconds,” he said flatly, still looking at his datapad.

“Father you’re hurting me!” Armitage exclaimed, for all the good it would do. He knew his father knew exactly what he was doing.

“Better than your original time,” the man went on, ignoring his son’s pleas, “enough to put you out of last place, but I think you can do better.” 

“Please, father I’m tired, can’t we do it again tomorrow? I’ll be better tomorrow.”

The elder Hux looked down at the boy as if he were a smear of filth on the floor, digging his foot down harder on his fingers. “Do you know what we did to boys like you in my academy on Arkanis?” He asked. “We let them die. We let nature take its course.”

Armitage gasped and struggled to free his trapped fingers.

“Survival is not a right, Armitage. It is a privilege earned only by the strong.” He was shouting now, and the pressure of his boot was becoming unbearable. “You have to fight for it, pry it out of the hands of others if need be. Out there, nobody is going to give you a second chance, nobody is going to give you a rest, no matter how much you beg and cry. The galaxy is a beast that will tear you apart and devour you if you cannot beat it into submission. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Armitage gasped through the pain, “yes I understand. I’m sorry!”

“Stop apologizing,” his father commanded, “and prove to me that you’re strong enough to survive!” 

With that, he suddenly lifted his foot, the sudden shock of freedom loosening Armitage’s grip and sending him plummeting down to the bottom of the pit.

___

The Outer Rim, Two Months Before

Hux came to with a start, falling out of unconsciousness and crashing hard back into his body, gasping for breath. The air was so cold it was hard to breathe. When he opened his eyes he found himself upside down, still attached to his seat, hanging by the straps of his seatbelt. There was a constant, aching pain in his chest, so intense it made it difficult for him to focus his eyes. Opposite him, the hole in the side of the pod - now the bottom - looked down on a frozen forest floor. He could see the shape of a trooper crumpled on the ground, barely visible against the snow. Had he fallen out, Hux wondered, or tried to jump down? 

He turned his head to look at the front of the pod, wincing through the sudden sharp barbs of pain in his neck. The viewport had been punctured by a thick tree branch which now penetrated deep into the craft, leaving a mess of needles scattered throughout the interior. Lieutenant Rheese was still in the pilot’s seat, face down on the console, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. Hux was alone. He looked away, crushing the twinge of guilt and focusing his attention on the task at hand. There was nothing to do but get out.

He took a deep breath, pushing through the pain, and unhooked the seatbelt. He dropped down, landing on his hands and knees on what had been the side of the ship. It was a short drop, but the impact made his chest feel like it was going to collapse in on itself. He had to pause, gripping the metal below him and gasping, raggedly until the agony was manageable again. _A broken rib,_ he thought, _maybe two_. Nothing a bit of bacta and a few hours of bedrest wouldn’t fix - but first he’d have to get out of here. 

Hux peered down through the hole in the side of the pod. It really was a long way down and the dead trooper on the ground below was a grim reminder of what could happen if he didn’t land just right. But there was no other way. He wished he believed in something so he could pray to it, then he took one more deep breath, steeling himself for the unavoidable pain to come before swinging his legs out of the hole and dropping down. The moment he was in freefall, Hux started asking himself what he was thinking. This was a horrible mistake, he was going to break every bone in his body and die here on this wretched planet like the rest of his crew. 

And there was the ground, rushing up to meet him. 

“Hugs, is that you?” 

The jarringly familiar voice caught him so off guard he twisted in midair to look in its direction. He caught a flash of hark hair, an orange flight suit, and then he hit the forest floor hard at an odd angle. 

The impact stunned him momentarily - the world and all its unpleasant sensations disappearing in a burst of white light. 

_“Prove to me you’re strong enough to survive!”_ His father’s voice rang in his ears, as clear as if the man were standing right over him.

The first sense that returned was the pain. One of his legs had broken on impact - he strained to see it and then quickly looked away, his stomach turning at the grotesque way the knee had bent. The horror and agony of what had happened to his leg was topped only by the ache in his chest which had become so intolerable he couldn’t suppress the ragged whimper that rose in his throat. 

“Oh good, you’re alive.” there was that voice again. As his vision cleared, an all-too-familiar figure took shape, looming over him. The pilot was squatting next to his head, his blaster pointed casually but purposefully at his chest.

“Poe Dameron,” Hux hissed, gritting his teeth through the pain, “I should have known.” He struggled to sit up but was thwarted by a searing barb of pain in his chest which forced him to lie back down, swearing under his breath. 

“Woah, woah, easy there, General. Take it easy. That was a nasty fall.”

 _Take it easy?_ Dameron was talking like this whole blasted mess wasn’t his fault. “How did you find us?” He demanded. But it didn’t really matter how he’d found them - it only mattered that he had, and now Hux’s crew was dead, and he was next. He was only buying time before the inevitable. 

“Your arms guy tipped us off. When he told me you were coming with such a small escort, I couldn’t resist.” He chuckled, but there was an edge to it. Poe Dameron played the fool but Hux knew that under the veneer of levity, the man was smart and dangerous.

“Well,” said Hux, glaring up at the other man, “you’ve got me where you want me now. Finish it.” He eyed Dameron’s blaster. He didn’t want to die, not yet, but he supposed it was better to go like this, at the hands of an enemy than at the whim of Kylo Ren.

The other man’s expression darkened and his grip on the blaster tightened. “You have no idea how tempting that is, but unfortunately you’re a lot more useful to the Resistance alive.”

“I’ll die before I tell you anything,” spat Hux, groping for the blaster that had been at his waist. He found the holster, but the weapon was missing.

“Looking for this?” Dameron produced the other man’s blaster from the pocket of his flight suit and dangled it above him. “Nice try. It’s a pretty nice piece,” he said, pocketing it again, “I think I’ll keep it.” 

Hux could do nothing but glare at him impotently. He was disarmed, cold, prone, and the pain from his ribs and his leg was threatening to pull him back into unconsciousness. His eyelids were already growing heavy again. 

“Hey,” Dameron prodded him with his blaster, “don’t do that - don’t close your eyes. You’re definitely concussed after that fall. Can’t have you dying on me now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hux muttered, rolling his eyes, “after all you’ve made such a compelling case for my staying alive to be arrested and tortured by the Resistance.”

“I never said anything about torture,” said Dameron, ”as much as I’d love to pay you back for what you did to me when I was your prisoner, it doesn’t have to come to that. Surrender willingly, and we can go back to my ship and fix you up, then we can have a nice, dignified, torture-free conversation about the First Order. What do you say?”

“How far is your ship?” A plan was starting to form in his mind. If he could just deal with Dameron surely he could drag himself to the X-Wing and use its comms to contact the Order for an extraction. He might survive this yet.

“It’s in the clearing half a klick east of here. It won’t be easy with your leg ...like that” he grimaced at the grotesquely broken bone, “but I’ll help you if you let me.”

He lowered the blaster and extended his other hand to help him up. 

That was all Hux needed to turn the tables. He grabbed the man’s arm and yanked it down hard, throwing him off balance. Forcing himself to push through the excruciating pain, he wrestled the blaster from Dameron’s hand and clambered on top of him, straddling his chest to pin him down and leveling the weapon at his face.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Hux spat, panting through gritted teeth as he retrieved his own blaster from the man’s pocket and tossed it to the side.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Hugs?” The other man cracked a wry smile, infuriatingly calm in the face of mortal peril. “You know if it weren’t for the gun in my face this might actually be kind of hot.” 

Hux was about to retort - or shoot him - when the man’s expression suddenly changed - eyes widening and smile vanishing into a look of utter terror.

“Behind you!” He exclaimed, “Look behind you!”

Hux shook his head, “I’m not falling for that you imbecile.” It was insulting the things this man thought would fool him.

“No, Hux, I’m serious look-”

It was only when he heard the sounds of heavy footfalls crunching in the snow too close for comfort and rapidly coming up behind him that, with a rush of adrenaline, Hux finally whipped round, despite the protests of his broken ribs, just in time to see the jaws of some great, shaggy beast bearing down on the two of them. He threw himself back, off of Dameron, giving himself enough space to line up a shot and take it, twice, hitting the creature right in the roof of its gaping mouth and sending it crashing down on top of the Resistance pilot, its dead weight pinning him to the ground. For a moment both men could do nothing but lay where they had fallen and pant heavily.

“I told you … I told you there was something behind you,” Dameron said between breaths.

“Forgive me if I don't trust you implicitly right after you shot me out of the sky.” He retorted, equally winded. 

“At least it’s warm under here,” Dameron added, “once the sun sets - and it looks like it’s setting soon - it’s going to get even colder and then we’re both dead, but this thing might keep me insulated just long enough to watch you freeze first.”

Hux sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. The other man was right, there was no way he could drag himself to shelter like this and it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the cold. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but he was too tired to be upset. This last burst of activity had taken all the remaining energy he had in him. Adrenaline faded fast to be replaced by overwhelming pain and fatigue. 

He heard the hum of a speeder approaching, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit up and see who it was. If someone else was coming to kill him, there was nothing he could do to fight it. 

“That was my pet! You shot my pet!” A familiar voice - where did he know that voice? 

“Your _pet_ almost killed us,” returned Dameron, glaring from under the corpse of the creature. 

“He was just saying hello!”

Hux strained to push himself up enough to see the speaker. It was a Twi'lek male, armed with a blaster rifle and clad in a long, fur-lined cloak over blaster-proof armor. This was the arms supplier they had come here to meet - the one who had sold them out to the Resistance. “You!” Hux hissed, “You betrayed us!”

The Twi'lek looked over at him with an expression somewhere between pity and disdain. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, aiming the blaster at the prone Poe Dameron and shooting him with a blue stun bolt, “I’m betraying both of you.” 

He took aim again, this time at Hux. There was a flash of blue light and he was plunged once again into unconsciousness. 

___

The Unknown Regions _,_ 22 Years Before

Armitage climbed out of the pit two more times after his father had knocked him back down, each attempt a little faster than the one before. Not once did Brendol Hux show any sign of approval but after the last attempt he stepped back to let Armitage clamber over the edge where he fell to his knees, so tired he could hardly hold his head up.

“Get up.” His father commanded him flatly.

Armitage obeyed, rising on shaking legs to stand at attention. The elder Hux looked him up and down with distaste. 

“Do you know what my colleagues in Command say about you, Armitage?”

“No, father.” But he _had_ heard some of it - had heard the words ‘bastard’ and ‘kitchen girl’s son’ a hundred times, not-quite whispered behind hands or spoken with open sneers - and he had seen the way they looked at him with undisguised disdain.

“They say you’re weak - physically, mentally - maybe it’s your bad breeding, or your disposition, or perhaps you’re just defective. They say they fear no amount of training will fix you, that you'll never be anything other than a _failure._ Do you have any idea how poorly that reflects on me?”

“I…” Armitage fumbled again for something satisfactory to say. Brendol’s disappointment was infinitely more terrifying than his anger, worse even than the beatings. The weight of it bore down on Armitage’s narrow, bony shoulders, threatening to crush him. 

His father sighed and shook his head. “You are supposed to embody the future we fought to protect after the Empire fell, to be the heir to everything we are striving to build with the First Order, and yet time and time again you disappoint me - you prove yourself unworthy.”

“I’m sorry father,” said Armitage, finally meeting the older man’s eyes with all the determination he could muster. “I _can_ do better. I promise, I will be worthy.”

“I pray you’re right.” He said, looking away from his son. “Now go to bed, you might still get a few hours sleep before your training resumes tomorrow.”

Armitage went back to his room, but he didn’t sleep. Despite his physical exhaustion, his mind was still working furiously, burning with fear and shame and plans for vengeance. He laid in his bed, staring at the flat, metal expanse of the ceiling, thinking about all the sneering faces of his father’s colleagues, their whispers and their doubts. He would prove them all wrong, he would claw his way up the ranks whatever it might take - be the perfect soldier for the First Order - and once he had amassed enough power, he would kill them all. 


	2. Chapter 2

_The Steadfast_ , Three months before

“May I ask why you called me here, Supreme Leader?” Hux looked Kylo Ren in his masked face with what he hoped was confidence.

They were in the _Steadfast’s_ board room, alone at the long table. Hux hated this ship. He had few good memories of life aboard the _Finalzer_ , but at least it had been _his_ ship. This was enemy territory. And more than that he hated being alone with Ren, hated the way the air buzzed with his anger, with potential for violence. It was worse when the mask was on. He couldn't read him then, couldn’t anticipate his moods or prepare himself for the inevitable physical outburst. At least his father had been predictable. 

“I have sensed your displeasure lately, General,” Ren said, his tone impossible to decode. 

“Displeasure sir, no, certainly not, sir. Only -” he was treading dangerous waters now but it was too late to go back, and he might not get another chance to make his case, “we’ve been winning battles, Supreme Leader, crushing the Resistance in every corner of the Galaxy, and those victories are due - in no small part - to me. Surely you see that. And I know I can do more with the right tools. Perhaps it’s time to reconsider restoring me to my full command?”

“You are right, General, the Resistance is growing weaker by the day. It is nearly time for the next stage. The Galaxy - the whole universe is about to change. It is time to consider who deserves to see it to the end and who is fat that needs cutting from the Order.”

“I don’t think I follow sir.” Hux’s stomach was dropping.

“Snoke always said you had potential. He thought your shame, your pathetic desperation made you useful.” Ren went on, “‘Abused pups grow up to be vicious beasts,’ - that’s what he said. But do you know what I think?”

There was a time when Hux would have made some sarcastic remark - _“I’m sure you’ll tell me,”_ he would have said, _“please, share your wise insights about my failings.”_ He and Ren used to have a rapport, a kind of rivalry, where they could be open about their distaste for one another - it was refreshing, and at times it actually bordered on companionable. Things had changed since Ren had become Supreme Leader. Now Hux didn’t dare do more than shake his head.

“I never understood his interest in you. I think your secret usefulness was just another one of his delusions. Or maybe he kept you alive because he found it entertaining to watch you scheme and simper and embarrass yourself. But I don’t find it entertaining, and I don’t think you’re useful, secretly or otherwise. I think you’re just as worthless as you seem. Sometimes ‘abused pups’ don’t grow up to be vicious - they grow up to be cowardly, untrustworthy animals that bite the hand that feeds them.”

“I assure you, Supreme Leader, I have been nothing but useful. And if you restored me to my full command I could be of even better use to you.” He insisted, “I am - I’ve always been loyal - dedicated to serving the First Order - my whole life-” _I can do better. I promise, I will be worthy._

He felt a pressure on his throat, light at first but growing tighter and tighter. His hands shot instinctively to his neck, clawing uselessly at his shirt collar as if that was to blame. Further down the table, Ren’s hand was clenched into a merciless fist.

“I should kill you now,” he said, “end your insignificant existence here, cut the fat from _my_ Order before you can fail me again or form some scheme against me.”

Hux’s mouth opened and closed, gasping for air which would not come.

“This is bigger than the First Order now - it’s all about to change, more than you can comprehend - everything you’ve ever done is a speck of dust compared to what is to come. You don’t deserve to live in the universe I will create. You’re too small-minded for it.”

Dark spots were beginning to appear in the corners of his vision and the grip of the Force around his neck was tightening. His neck was going to snap long before the lack of oxygen could kill him. 

Ren’s inscrutable masked face studied him as if he were a specimen in a lab, some wriggling, vivisected animal, pinned down and dying with all its guts splayed out for his curiosity. 

“But I won’t kill you now,” he said at last, unclenching his fist and releasing the hold of the Force from Hux’s throat. The general gulped at the air, eyes streaming, almost deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. “I sense you still have some small purpose left to serve. I’ll give you one more chance. Use whatever power you have left and show me your value. Show me your loyalty, not to the First Order, but to _me_. To my vision.”

“Yes sir, Supreme Leader,” Hux managed, anger burning in his aching throat.

“Fail to prove yourself,” said Ren, rising from his seat, “and I will end you. I’m not interested in your potential, only what you can do for me now.”

With that, he pushed back from the table and strode out of the room, cloak billowing around him. 

Hux stayed behind long after the door hissed shut and Ren’s footsteps faded out of earshot. He could feel the First Order - everything he had worked for, killed for, sacrificed for - slipping out of his grasp, becoming something he didn’t or couldn’t or wasn’t allowed to understand. The walls were closing in on him - Ren, Pryde, everything - crushing him, making him small and weak and powerless as he swore he'd never be again. But he was still alive, he was still here and he would do his duty, and snivel at the feet of lesser men with more power until the time was right to strike. The First Order would be his or it was all for nothing, and he wouldn’t let it be for nothing.

___

  
  


The Base, Two Months Before

Hux remembered his capture in snippets. His eyes fluttered open as someone pulled him off the back of the speeder - past a still-unconscious Poe Dameron - but grew heavy and fell closed again as he was dragged through a heavy metal door. 

Next he came to in agony as a tarnished, unsanitary-looking droid roughly set his broken leg. He thrashed out, only to find himself strapped into place.

“Now now,” said the droid, “your distress will impede the healing process. This will help you relax.” She leaned forward and injected him with something, and he was swallowed by the dark again.

It was Poe Dameron’s voice which finally brought him fully back into consciousness.

“Come on,” the man was protesting, somewhere beyond Hux’s field of vision, “lock me up if you have to but don’t leave me in here with _him!_ Isn’t there another cell? I’d take a closet, I'm not picky.”

Hux took in the cell - or as much of it as he could see from where he laid on the floor. It was a small, unforgiving metal room lit by a dim overhead light which flickered as if it might give out at any moment. He also paused to take stock of himself - his leg felt better, and his chest no longer felt like it was on the verge of collapsing in on itself. Their captors had done a good job of treating his wounds - but why?

Someone laughed. “With any luck you’ll be out of that cell soon enough … although where you end up next might make you wish you could’ve stayed in here with the general forever.” The laughter receded into the distance and Dameron swore under his breath.

“For what it’s worth,” said Hux, sitting upright with a grunt and leaning against the wall, “being trapped in here with you isn’t exactly a dream come true for me either.”

“Ah,” Dameron turned from the barred door to face Hux, “you’re up. Great.” He looked exhausted. The layer of mirth he had worn earlier was slipping, and his frustration was evident in the lines of his face. 

“What is this place?” Asked Hux, as business-like as he could be under the circumstances. “What do they want?”

Dameron paced at the far end of the cell - a caged beast, itching to attack. “I don’t know, some kind of bunker. I was out the whole way here. I talked to one of them - your backstabbing arms guy - he said they’re planning to ransome us to whichever side pays better.”

Hux pursed his lips and exhaled heavily. He doubted the First Order would pay a single credit for him, but they might do it to secure Poe Dameron. Of course, if the Order didn’t come for him, or if the Risistance paid more, the alternative was being arrested by his enemies - certainly a death sentence, probably torture first. 

“There must be a way out of here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Dameron.

“Trust me, I’ve been looking,” said the other man, “there’s nothing. We’re stuck here until they make a move, or until someone comes to break one of us out.” 

“Are you expecting a rescue?” Hux’s eyes followed Dameron back and forth as he paced.

“I left my droid with my ship when I went looking for you. Once he realizes I’m missing, Beebee-ate will wait there and call Resistance Command for help.” He sounded so sure.

“And you think they’ll come?”

“Sure they will. It might take a while, but they’ll come. The Resistance actually values the lives of our people, I know that might be a little hard for you to wrap your head around.” He delivered that last barb with a glare. 

“I would hope the First Order would value our _people_ enough not to waste valuable time and resources on the rescue of one _person_ ,” Hux said cooly, “though they might decide it’s worth it to capture you.”

“Wow that’s ...almost flattering. The First Order wants me more than they want you, huh?” 

“If it helps you to think of it that way, by all means, go ahead.” Weary and frightened for his life as he was, he found himself slipping into an easy sardonic tone he hadn’t used in a long time. He could say what he thought to Dameron and as much as the man might want to kill him, there wasn’t much he could do. They were equals in this place.

“You know,” said Dameron, his haggard expression lifting into a mocking smirk, “I honestly didn’t think I’d see you again - don’t the First Order usually kill the guys who lose battles? With how many times you’ve screwed up you must be living on borrowed time.”

Somehow, without knowing him at all, Dameron’s jabs always seemed to land right in Hux’s weak spots - first joking about his mother, then this. But he’d been the target of harsher insults and from people whose opinion mattered to him far more than Poe Dameron’s. 

Hux humphed and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’re in a position to mock me for my failings, Commander - or is it Captain again - you were demoted, weren’t you?”

“Did you research me, Hugs? I’m touched. But it’s Commander again. I’m just that good.”

“Your superiors are quick to forgive.” Sometimes Hux thought of the Resistance as a credible threat to the First Order, sometimes it even worried him. Then he would hear things like this and remember that these were fools living without any kind of order or discipline. “If you were one of my men and you recklessly disobeyed orders like that,” he said, “I would have bypassed demotion altogether and had you shot.”

“If I was your man I would have shot myself,” returned Dameron. “Besides, you shouldn’t get so hung up on rank. People might think you’re compensating for something, General.”

“Funny,” said Hux, “I’ve always heard that said about men who build their reputations around how fast they can fly in their pretty little starfighters.”

Dameron gave him a look which was almost impressed. Hux was almost amused. Then the other man frowned and looked away as if he were disgusted with himself for the lapse in hostility.

Hux internally chastised himself too. He shouldn’t even be speaking to Poe Dameron. The man was his enemy and it was his fault they were in this situation. 

After a long pause, Hux spoke up, asking the question that had been nagging at him since he’d fallen out of that tree and seen Dameron’s face looming over him. “Why did you come after my shuttle?” He asked, “why did you follow me down to the planet’s surface? What tactical purpose could that possibly have served?”

The other man shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t my smartest move, but I saw a chance to take you out and I took it. One less monster in the galaxy’s never a bad thing.”

Hux couldn’t disagree. He knew what he was. “Then why not kill me when you had the chance?”

“The plan changed. The only thing better for the Resistance than you being dead, is you behind bars. Like an idiot I thought you might have a shred of humanity in there somewhere - that I could reason with you -”

“Well, brilliant work, Dameron,” Hux cut him off, his own frustration bubbling up inside him, “you’ve got me behind bars now. In fact, you’ve got us _both_ behind bars. Truly an excellent strategy. I suppose the next logical step is to get us _both_ killed? You might be a strategic genius because you’re right on track to do that too.”

“You know what,” said Dameron, undisguised loathing in his voice, “if the last thing I do is get you killed, I’m fine with that.”

As the two glared daggers at one another, Hux realized something - something which might give him the upper hand. “Oh,” he said, a sneer pulling at the corners of his mouth “Oh, I think I understand now. You disobeyed orders to come find me, didn’t you? You ran off to play the hero. How predictable.”

“Don’t act like you know me.” Dameron spat. 

But Hux went on, ruthlessly, almost gleefully. “The Resistance don’t even know you’re here, do they? Or perhaps they’re just finding out now. No wonder your plan was so stupid, you came up with it all on your own. How many people are going to pay for your recklessness this time? Can the Resistance spare the credits to pay your ransome, or the resources to break you out? How long until they get tired of cleaning up your messes? You’re an idiot, Dameron and someday it’s going to lose you this war.”

For a moment, it looked like Dameron was going to cross the cell and hit him. His body shrunk back instinctively, further into the corner of the cell, even as his mind hated the show of cowardice.

The other man scoffed. “Maybe I’m an idiot, but you - you’re something worse - you’re pathetic. You know, I’ll bet you’ve never cared about anyone or anything enough to risk your neck for it - or maybe you just know that if you did, no one would care enough about you to save you if you needed it. Look at you now - if the First Order does show up, it’ll be to capture _me_. No one would come to your rescue otherwise and you didn’t even screw up, you didn’t act recklessly, you followed orders like a good little soldier - the First Order just doesn't care what happens to you. You might have an army, but now, when you need it, you’re alone. My people are coming for me, General, because they do care what happens to me. That’s why you’re going to lose in the end, even if neither of us live to see it.”

They lapsed into seething, hostile silence again. Hux doubted the imbecile even knew the extent to which he had already ruined his life. Even if this whole mess resulted in Dameron’s capture, it would still be viewed as another one of his failures. He could already imagine the disdain in Allegiant General Pryde’s voice when he would, inevitably, berate Hux for this. _Perhaps you shouldn’t be trusted with any responsibility at all, General,_ he would say, _if you cannot manage a simple errand without wasting the Order’s time and money_. He would act disappointed and disgusted but he would love every minute of it. That man had been watching Armitage Hux suffer since he was a child, and he’d never tried to hide the fact that he thrived on it. Worse still, what if getting shot down and captured and humiliated like this was the excuse Kylo Ren needed to kill him? No. He wouldn’t die on account of Poe Dameron. 

In the silence that stagnated between them, Hux thought he could hear a roaring, whistling sound from outside. The cell light flickered and went out for a few seconds, before coming back on, a good bit dimmer than it had been before. Both men looked up at the light and then at each other.

There was a sharp wrap on the cell bars. It was the traitorous arms dealer carrying his hefty blaster rifle and accompanied by two others, a human woman with nasty-looking scars covering half her face, and the droid which had tended to Hux's broken bones.

“Look alive, boys,” the woman said, producing a thick, rough rope, “it’s time to see which one of you has better friends.”

Hux and Dameron were tied together and led at blaster-point out of the cell and down a narrow, dimly-lit corridor. Hux took in everything he could as they went, searching for any detail which might help him escape. This certainly wasn’t the clean, stately home where he and his crew had met the arms supplier before. It had the unmistakable utilitarian hallmarks of a military base, but it was old - too old to be Imperial. The tech looked like it must date to the early Clone Wars. Every time they passed through a set of doors, there was a screech of old joints and rusty mechanisms. After the corridor with the cell, they passed through one which had doors that opened off into a shabby mess hall and a dingy-looking kitchen. He caught a whiff of something rancid as they passed it and nearly gagged. These people might be working out of a military base but they didn’t live like soldiers. 

“What’s happening out there?” Dameron asked their captors, as the lights flickered perilously. 

“A storm front’s coming in,” said the twi’lek. “Looks like a real monster. Could last a week. You’d better hope it doesn’t though, because as long as that storm’s going, we’re all stuck here, and we don’t have enough food for all of us. Whoever pays your ransome’s going to get you back hungry.”

Given the smell which had come from the kitchen, Hux didn’t think he would accept any food from them even if there was enough.

After ascending a floor in a dangerously outdated lift, they arrived in a control room of sorts. The walls were ringed with monitors and consols, many of which were completely dark. In the center of the room was a comm station - one of the few operational pieces of machinery in the room - and beside it another brigand - a trandoshan with what looked like some kind of primitive harpoon launcher strapped across his back. Before him, casting a blue glow on his scaled face, was the holographic image of Allegiant General Pryde.

_Why did it have to be him?_

“Ah, there they are, as promised,” the trandoshan hissed as the two men were prodded forward. “Your General Hux and the Resistance leader Poe Dameron.”

The look Pryde gave Hux was so scathing even in holographic form, that an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. 

“Surely at least one of these men is worth something to the Order,” the brigand went on, “certainly they will be to the Resistance.” 

Pryde turned his withering gaze on the trandoshan. “The First Order does not deal with criminals,” he said. “And we do not take kindly to threats. We will not pay a single credit for your hostages. I will offer you one set of alternative terms - surrender Dameron and General Hux at once and the Order may forgive your momentary lapse in judgement.”

“Or what?” The woman spoke up, foolishly undaunted by Pryde. 

The Allegiant General folded his arms across his chest. “Or we will blow you and your hostages to atoms.” At that he looked at Hux again, a malevolent spark in his eyes. He would enjoy obliterating his younger colleague, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. “For your sake I hope you come to your senses before we reach your location.”

With that the transmission cut out leaving an uneasy silence to linger in the control room. The sound of howling wind was louder now, and closer.

“Well, he seems nice.” Dameron remarked unhelpfully. 

Their captors exchanged glances. “I think we should consider their terms,” the twi’lek piped up. “Perhaps we were too hasty in betraying the First Order.”

“We’re in too deep,” the woman insisted, “if I’m putting my ass on the line I want my credits. We should at least try the Resistance, if they accept our terms we can deliver the prisoners, get our money and get off this world without a trace before the Order arrives.”

“Nim’s right, I want my credits,” hissed the trandoshan, pounding his fist on the console. 

“Listen,” Hux cut in. He’d talked his way out of worse situations, he would find a way to survive this too. He already felt a plan forming in his mind. “You’ll never see another credit again if you die. I know General Pryde, and even if you meet his new terms, he will destroy you for betraying the First Order. Of course, you could try and sell us to the Resistance like you’ve been planning, but you should know that Poe Dameron is only here because he disobeyed orders to hunt me down. Do you really think they’ll pay to get him back? And even if you do get paid, you’ll be dead before you can spend any of it. You’ll have crossed the First Order and they will hunt you down, wherever you might try to run, however you might try to hide. But I doubt you’ll even get that far, especially if you waste time negotiating with the Resistance. I think that storm is almost here, and once it is, you’re grounded. You’re trapped here until it clears and by then, the Order, and Pryde, will be at your door. ” 

He paused a moment for dramatic effect, taking in the increasingly perturbed faces of his captors. When he glanced at Dameron, he found even the Resistance pilot was listening somberly. 

He went on - “Perhaps it’s already too late for you to save yourselves, but if you want even the slightest chance of surviving this, you should go, now, and leave me behind with Dameron. Once the storm has cleared and comms are back online, I will contact the First Order and let them know that you’ve given up this foolish endeavor. You will be long gone and with your hostages safely surrendered, I am sure there will be no reason for the Order to pursue you.”

“Why should we trust you?” The woman, Nim, demanded. Her tone was harsh but he could tell she was considering what he had said. They all were. 

“Oh no, you shouldn’t trust me,” said Hux, fighting back a smirk, “but you should trust Pryde when he says he’ll blow us all to atoms. Doubt me if you like, but you must know he’s already on his way.”

The terror in the faces of his captors was all Hux needed to know he had won them over. Perhaps Dameron was right, perhaps he was alone and the Order didn’t care whether he lived or died, indeed it was becoming increasingly clear that some of his colleagues would rather he did die - but he didn’t need them to care. He had never needed anyone to want him or save him. He had always saved his own life, and he was about to do it again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely incapable of keeping a regular update schedule but I'm planning to post new chapters once or twice a week. This is a long one!

Cirus II, 15 Years Before

“The explosives are rigged and ready, Lieutenant Hux, our troopers are in position to enter the base. We will detonate on your command.” 

First Lieutenant Armitage Hux stood before the tinted floor-to-ceiling window which ran the length of one of the walls of the mining office, his hands clasped behind his back. From here, he could see the opening of the mine shaft - the workers loitering in front, waiting for the order to head down and begin work. He couldn’t see the entrance to the old Imperial base from here, but he knew where it was, just beyond an outcropping of rock, tucked inconspicuously into the side of the mine, masquerading as a side entrance to the tunnels. His six troopers would be lying low, waiting for his command to blow the door. 

Also in the tinted transparisteel of the window, he could see his own reflection - his pale face set in a determined but neutral expression. This new uniform felt like it belonged to someone else - someone much older than his twenty years, someone not on their first solo command. He felt like a child in a costume, an actor playing a part without the whole script. His palms were sweaty inside his gloves and his heart was going at hyperspeed, but it didn’t show in his face. He looked confident, like someone who should be in charge. That was what mattered. Behind him was the gleaming white reflection of the stormtrooper commander, awaiting his orders, and further back still he could make out the shape of the mine owner, hovering anxiously behind his desk.

“Mining operations begin for the day at oh-seven-hundred, correct?” He asked brusquely, eyes fixed on the reflection of the mine owner.

“Yes,” the man stuttered, “ah - normally yes, sir but I can order them to start earlier if you like - whatever you like, sir.”

Hux was still getting used to the idea of people being afraid of him. It made him uneasy - made him feel like his father - but it was far better than being looked down upon. He looked down at his chrono. _06:40_.

“No,” he said cooly, not turning from the window, “begin work at the usual time. Everything must appear normal. We know the Resistance has been watching this site. They want the asset in this base as much as we do - or they want to know why we want it. The only reason they haven’t broken into the base themselves is that they would need permission from the New Republic - permission they will not get. Instead, they are waiting for us to make a move, to justify a skirmish and allow them to take what they want under the pretense of reacting to our aggression. They want a fight and I am determined not to give it to them. We will detonate the explosives exactly as the machinery starts in the mine. Any seismic disturbance caused by our entrance will be indistinguishable from normal mine activity. Once we are safely out of the base, there will be an unfortunate malfunction with your machinery triggering the explosives still stored in the base, and the place will be destroyed leaving no trace that we were ever here, is that understood?” 

“Y-yes sir.” Stammered the mine owner.

“A sound strategy, Lieutenant,” said the stormtrooper commander.

“It’s just, sir,” the mine owner piped up again, “I do worry about the safety of my miners in all this - I mean detonating the explosives in that base right above the shaft-”

The thought had crossed Hux’s mind too. He swallowed his guilt and said “hasn’t the First Order paid you enough to compensate families in the event of any casualties?”

“Y-yes sir,” the man stammered. He wanted to say something else but he wouldn’t be brave enough. Hux knew men like him, men who cared for their underlings right up to the point that it meant risking their own necks.

“Then it should not be a problem. Mining is dangerous work, accidents happen all the time. Life goes on.” At last he turned to look at the other two men and unclasped his hands, “Ready the speeders, Commander, we should move out now if we’re to make our entrance on time.”

  
  


___

The Base, Two Months Before

It took just over half an hour for the brigands to tie Hux and Dameron to an air vent at the far end of the control room, pack up everything of value in the base that wasn’t bolted down, and take off into the gathering storm. It took less than five minutes after the sound of their ship receded into the distance for Dameron to produce a vibroknife from his sleeve and cut himself free.

“Did you have that the whole time?” Hux demanded incredulously. 

He cursed himself internally - he had stopped carrying his own hidden knife after Kylo Ren had caught sight of it and nearly broke his wrist taking it away - as if he would use something as obvious as a knife to kill the Supreme Leader. 

The other man stood and stretched, tossing the knife once and tucking it into a pocket of his flight suit. “Sure did. I was just waiting for the right time to use it.”

Hux shook his head in dismay, “And this - right this minute is the first time you’ve deemed it necessary to bring it out?”

“Well I won’t lie, I thought about using it to stab you earlier,” Dameron shrugged, “but then they’d have known I had it and I would’ve lost the element of surprise.” He started walking around the control room, checking the machinery. 

“What about when they opened the cell to take us up here? You don’t think that might have been an opportune moment to use the weapon you had stashed away? Or while they were trying to barter you to the First Order?” 

Dameron scoffed. “Come on, they were all armed, it would’ve been suicide to try to take them on with a knife. And besides, it seemed like you had the situation under control up here,” he said, infuriatingly nancholant. “Speaking of which - credit where credit’s due - that was impressive, great performance. Very intimidating.”

“Nothing I said was a lie. The First Order is on its way here as we speak. They might not be able to reach us until the storm passes, but they will arrive. Our captors were wise to run, though it won’t save them.”

“Sure,” said Dameron, glancing down at Hux with that cunning glint back in his eye, “though judging by the way that General Pryde looked at you, you might be in as much danger as they are. He seemed pretty excited about vaporizing all of us, you included.”

Once again Dameron proved himself more perceptive than he had any right to be, but Hux wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Pryde and I might not be the best of friends, but we are colleagues and comrades. He would never fire on a fellow officer without cause. In fact, once he realizes the brigands have fled and that I have you in custody, I’ll be welcomed back.” 

“I wouldn’t call this you having me in custody,” the other man scoffed. He was trying the buttons on the com station to little avail. Outside the wind had whipped itself into an incessant howl, and every so often the walls of the base would quake along with it.

“It won’t work, Dameron. Listen to the wind outside, the storm is _here_. Nothing is getting in or out of here, not signals, not ships. We’re stranded.”

After another few seconds of futile button-pushing, the other man sighed and gave up on the com station. “Just my luck. Fine.” He began making for the lift.

“Hey!” Hux barked, straining pointlessly against his own, still intact, bonds. 

Much as he hated Dameron, he didn’t like the thought of being left alone in this place any better. His splinted leg still severely limited his mobility, and, as whatever painkillers he had been given earlier had worn off, his chest had begun to ache again as well. There could be raiders or wild animals out there, waiting to prey on those weakened by the storm, and he doubted he could fight off any new assailants on his own. Besides, if the other man ran off into the storm and died out there, Hux would have nothing to show for himself when the Order arrived and that could be fatal.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To look for food,” said Dameron, “and blankets and something we can burn in case the power goes out and we lose heat. That Twi’lek said the storms can last for days. It’s bad enough being stuck here with you, I don’t need to add starving and freezing to the mix.” Despite himself, Hux felt a wave of relief at Dameron’s use of the word _we_. He wasn’t being abandoned yet. 

Scavenging what was left in the base was a wise move, though Hux doubted the place would yield much. Everything he’d seen on the way up indicated disuse. He had been inside the arms dealer’s home - or at least the place he took his First Order visitors when they were still ostensibly doing business. No one with a house like that would stay in a place like this longer than absolutely necessary.

“And I suppose you’re just going to leave me tied here while you forage?” Truth be told, Hux wasn’t sure he would be much use searching the base, given his injuries, but he had to put on a show of haughtiness, just to save his dignity. 

“That’s the plan,” said the other man, stepping into the lift and disappearing as the rusted doors screeched shut.

And then Hux was alone, with nothing but the howling storm for company.

  
  


___

Cirus II, 15 Years Before

The old base was sealed up with a massive metal door built directly into the rockface. That door had been shut for almost two decades now - since the Empire had evacuated this world just before Jakku. They had left virtually everything behind - either because they believed they would come back soon, or because they knew they never would. Command had told him little about the item he had come here to retrieve, aside from the fact that it was a datachip with some important information, but he had eavesdropped and caught glimpses of briefings over his father’s shoulder and eventually he had put the pieces together. 

This datachip contained plans for a superweapon, something the Empire had been working on in its final days but never had the chance to put into production. Some kind of planet-sized monstrosity which would change everything, bring an end to the First Order’s exile and establish it as the rightful power in the galaxy. It was of interest to the Supreme Leader himself. It was little wonder Command were willing to risk engaging with the Resistance in the midst of a cold war. And he was the one who was going to bring it to them. Surely that would earn him the recognition he deserved.

“On my mark,” he said, eyeing the explosives which had been rigged around the door and then glancing down at his chrono - _07:00_. “Now!”

He covered his ears and ducked down as fire erupted from the rockface, sending dust and debris raining down on him and his troopers as the door was blown open with a screech of unwilling metal. Almost instantaneously, the air was filled with the clanking and groaning of mining machinery coming to life. From a distance, the sound of the First Order’s explosives would have been swallowed by the general noise of the mine roaring into action.

When the dust cleared, the troopers approached.

“The door’s been breached, sir,” reported the stormtrooper commander.

“Move in,” Hux ordered, brushing debris off the shoulders of his uniform and following his men out of the sunlight and into the dark, gaping maw of the ruined doorway. Four troopers and the commander went in with Hux while two others remained outside to stand guard.

The inside of the old base was almost pitch black, and so choked with dust that their footfalls made almost no sound. The troopers had night vision built into their helmets but Hux had no such tool - instead he flicked on his flashlight and shone its meager beam around. This place felt less like a decades old military base and more like an ancient tomb. 

“We’re looking for the command center,” he said, speaking quietly into the com link as if speaking at a normal volume might awaken something not already stirred by the explosion or the constant thrum of the mining equipment working beneath them. “But check every room, we must be sure we find the asset.”

It was slow going. With no power in the place, each door had to be individually accessed and activated. As each room became accessible, Hux checked inside, examining what had been left behind. There were barracks to sleep twelve men and a separate room for the commanding officer. All the beds were neatly made, as if they had been expecting an inspection any day, though he did find a crude drawing scratched into the wall beside one of the bottom bunks. 

In the officer’s room, Hux found a dress uniform hanging in the closet and a holo of a uniformed man and a pregnant woman - both smiling quiet, dignified, but undeniably genuine smiles - memorialized for no one. It made him feel ...something, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Grief? Warmth? It was a strange and unwieldy emotion, and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

He was still studying the image when his com crackled to life.

“Sir,” one of the troopers said, “we’ve located the command center.”

Hux tucked the holo into his pocket and went to rejoin his men.

The command center was full of outdated tech - darkened screens, dusty buttons, even a deactivated security droid. One side of the room was stacked with boxes of explosives. Once they found what they were looking for, they would use those to blow the whole base, sending it all collapsing into the mine shaft below. 

Hux checked every device in the room but none of them were loaded with a datachip. Clearly some infuriating, wise person had had the foresight to remove any vital or incriminating information from these computers before they evacuated. He rifled through drawers of discarded datapads and old comlinks, and still found nothing. He cursed under his breath. Command was going to kill him if he came back empty handed. 

At last, his eyes landed on something useful - built into the back wall - partially hidden behind the deactivated security droid, there was a passcode-locked safe. 

“Here,” he said sharply, “move this droid and cut open the safe. Our target is inside.”

It took two troopers to move the droid. Another inspected the safe.

“We don’t have the tools to cut through it, Lieutenant,” he reported, “we’ll have to blast it open.”

Hux eyed the boxes of explosives anxiously. The metal crates looked sturdy enough not to go up at the first rogue spark but if he was wrong they were all dead. Of course, they might all be dead if they failed to retrieve the datachip.

“Alright,” he said, “fine. Go ahead. But be careful. If anyone’s going to blow us up I’d feel better if it wasn’t friendly fire.”

“Of course sir.” The trooper lined up a shot and took it, hitting the keypad several times and frying it. 

The safe door swung open weakly, revealing a cache of credits and a single, sealed envelope. Hux brushed past the trooper and snatched the envelope.

“This is it,” he said breathlessly, tearing it open and peering at the black chip inside. “This is-”

But before he could process his excitement, there was a shout and the flash of blaster fire from the entryway.

“It’s the Resistance!” One of the troopers guarding the entrance to the base shouted into his com. “There’s five - no - ten of them, at least. We need support at the front!”

Hux was frozen, his feet magnetized to the ground. He had never actually been in a firefight before - not outside of simulations. He had always assumed it couldn’t be that different - that when the time came for real combat his body would know what to do. But a moment passed, and then another and he couldn’t move.

The stormtrooper commander pushed past him, barking orders at his men. Blaster bolts were flying everywhere, illuminating the room in brief, blood-red flashes before plunging it into darkness again. Somewhere in his panic Hux had dropped his flashlight. He shoved the precious envelope into his pocket and ducked behind one of the computers. _Get yourself together you coward_ , he scolded himself. 

If he could just get his hands to stop shaking he could draw his own blaster and help. Why couldn’t he make his hands stop shaking? Why couldn’t he force himself to do the one thing he had been trained his whole life to do? Why was it becoming difficult to do something as simple as breathe? What would Brendol Hux say if he were here? He braced himself against the computer console, pressing his hands against the cold, firm ground - he could do this, he had to do this. 

And then suddenly, fire and sound burst forth from the back wall and swallowed everything.

Stormtroopers and Resistance alike were running - screaming - falling into the mineshaft below. Dust and chunks of stone were raining from the ceiling as more and more of the base began collapsing. The ground beneath Hux quaked and buckled and broke beneath him. His arms shot out, just as he began to fall and his hands caught the edge of what had once been the floor. 

He couldn’t hold himself up like this for long. This was it. He was going to die here, on his first command, his plans thwarted, his target lost with him. He would never taste power or pride. He would die in obscurity and no one would be sorry to see him go. 

And then, out of nowhere, a hand reached down for him. He looked up - a man’s face, sweaty, streaked with dirt. Not one of his troopers - one of the Resistance fighters. Hux’s eyes widened with terror. What more could the Resistance do to him? 

“It’s alright!” the man called down, an expression of what seemed to be genuine concern on his face, “Let me help you up! You don’t have to die here.”

___

The Base, Two Months Before

He had no idea how long Dameron left him alone. There were no windows to gauge the passage of time by sunlight, and the brigands had taken Hux’s chrono and datapad - not that he could have used them with his hands bound behind his back. His back was beginning to ache from the unusual position, and his arms had long ago gone numb. It felt like hours - realistically it wasn’t more than forty-five minutes.

“Miss me?” The other man asked, exiting the lift with a towering armful of what, to Hux’s eye, was a random assortment of trash.

“What is all that?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Mostly fuel for a fire if we need one. But I did find these,” he set his load down and rummaged through it, producing two tattered-looking parkas. He must have noticed some hint of uncertainty in Hux’s face because he scoffed and added “look, they’re ugly but they’re warm. I don’t think you’re in a position to be picky.”

“What about food?” 

Dameron sighed. “Not much. I found a couple of protein packs and some instant caf which might have been here since before either of us was born, but I don’t think that stuff goes bad.” He pulled those out of the pile of rubbish and sat them aside. It wasn’t much, especially if they were stranded here for days, but it would keep them alive.

“Well it’ll have to do.” He said dryly. Nothing he wasn’t used to. He had grown up on protein packs and instant caf and not much else. “Though I suppose we could hunt if it came to it,” he thought aloud. “Did you find any weapons?” 

“Do you really think I’d tell you if I did?” The other man gave a half-smirk. “But ...no. I didn’t. They took everything with them, including our blasters.”

“Damn…” Hux muttered. He had no doubt he could fashion a makeshift weapon if he needed to. Surely the other man could too. He had probably made the conscious choice to keep weapons out of the equation. Less chance of them killing one another. That and it gave Dameron and his knife a great deal more power.

“On the bright side, I did find one more thing,” he produced a sizable bottle of clear liquid from the pile. “Might not technically be a survival essential, but it’ll definitely help me survive being stuck here with you.”

“Is that-”

Dameron uncorked the bottle and held it out for Hux to smell. The fumes of the alcohol were so sharp and undiluted it made his eyes water. 

“Moonshine. Probably distilled right here and strong enough to down a Wookie. And there's more where this came from. Might make us go blind but hey - that just means we don’t have to look at each other.”

“Stars that’s awful,” Hux wrinkled his nose, trying to expunge the last of the smell, “are you sure that’s liquor and not a cleaning product?”

“Only one way to find out,” said Dameron, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a swig and swallowing hard. His face immediately creased with disgust. “Yeah it’s...it’s not _good_.”

A soft chuckle slipped between Hux’s lips before he could stop it. Luckily the other man didn’t seem to have noticed. 

He had settled down on the floor and leaned against the wall, keeping a few feet’s distance between himself and Hux. When he let the grimace fade, he looked haggard, exhausted. It had been a long time since this whole ordeal began, and longer since either of them had slept. He took another sip from the bottle and held it out towards Hux without looking up.

“Tempting,” said Hux, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to untie me first.”

Dameron looked up at him warily as if considering the proposition, but finally he sighed and produced the knife. “Fine, but don’t try anything.”

“What could I try? Where would I go?”

Hux winced as he leaned forward to allow Dameron access to the ropes binding his hands.

“Still feeling that fall, huh?” The other man remarked as he sawed through the thick fibers. “You know, you’re tougher than you look - the way you landed you should be dead.”

As soon as his hands were free, Hux flexed his finders and rolled his shoulders, trying to restore feeling to the numb limbs. “I’m afraid I do make a habit of surviving against the odds.”

“I guess that’s one thing we have in common.” Dameron, who had moved back as soon as Hux was untied, picked back up the bottle of moonshine and passed it over. 

Hux paused a moment, readying himself for the awful taste, before taking a generous swig. It burned all the way down, forcing out a sputtering cough. 

He had never been a real drunk - not like his father had been at certain, terrifying points in his life. But on long, lonely nights in his quarters, he was accustomed to drink a little - always stopping just before the point of drunkenness. Of course, that had always been good, expensive liquor that went down warm and smooth and comforting. _Desperate times_ , he thought, tossing back another stinging swig of the stuff and passing it back to the other man.

Dameron took it and sighed. “If someone told me a day ago that I’d be sharing a drink with General Hux I would’ve thought they’d lost their mind,” he punctuated his sentence with another sip. “Maybe I am losing my mind. Every second I spend not killing you feels like I’m betraying the Resistance.”

His posture had loosened a little. Hux knew better than to think he had let his guard down, but it was as if he had let go of some of the hostility they had exchanged earlier, not because his feelings had changed, but because it simply wasn’t worth holding on to now. Until the storm passed, there was no room to clash. He passed back the bottle.

“I could say the same,” said Hux. He could already feel the warmth of the liquor in his stomach, softening his edges. “You could have avoided this whole mess if you’d just followed orders … or done a better job of shooting down my ship.” His lips turned up - harder than a smile but softer than his usual smirk. He took another sip - it was becoming more palatable the more he drank. He was getting close to the edge of drunkenness now - where he would usually cut himself off. He wasn’t sure he would this time.

“Hey, don’t knock my shooting, I could’ve obliterated your ship if I’d wanted to.”

“So you didn’t want to?” Hux offered the bottle back and Dameron took it but didn’t drink right away.

“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “I did - _I do_ want you dead. When I shot down your ship I figured more likely than not that would do it. But if somehow it didn't ...if you lived, I guess I thought that could be alright too. Like I said before, some stupid part of me thought I could convince you to surrender willingly. General Organa would have forgiven me for going rogue if I brought you back with me. The things you know ...it could help us take down the whole First Order.”

Hux scoffed. “Why would I do that? The First Order is my life - my whole life. I would be nothing without it. How could I betray it?”

The other man shrugged. “Like I said, it was a stupid part of me.”

“You’re all the same,” Hux looked up at the ceiling, a memory swimming into focus through the gathering haze of the drink, “showing mercy to people you shouldn’t. Thinking people can change. Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t be breathing if I wasn’t stupid.”

“You aren’t the first.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I would have died on my first command if it wasn’t for some poor, goodhearted Resistance soldier.” Normally, Hux kept his past to himself, but the barrier between his mind and his mouth was more permeable than usual.

“Really?” Dameron’s eye’s sharpened, like he thought Hux was going to let slip something useful. “What happened?”

He sighed. The details didn’t have to come back to him, they were always there. “It’s a long story,” he said “I was twenty years old, inexperienced, stupid. I was sent in to retrieve an important asset from an old imperial base on Cirus II. I had a small team - it should have been enough - we were deep in the cold war, so we weren’t expecting a fight. But you - the Resistance caught on. My brilliant plan wasn’t as brilliant as I thought it was. There was a shootout, my first one, and I - I panicked. I froze.” 

He paused and looked down, embarrassed. The shame of that moment of cowardice burned his stomach worse than the moonshine. He shoved it down, and forced himself to continue.

“So you are human after all,” mused Dameron, looking up at Hux from under his long lashes with a gaze that was somewhere between surprise and ridicule, “or you were then.”

“What I was was a coward, that’s all” he said darkly, shutting down the other man’s comment and moving on with his story. 

“I don’t know which side it was, but someone shot a stockpile of explosives. Everything went up - the place was collapsing into the mines. I almost fell in - I would have died but this ...Resistance fighter offered me his hand. He pulled me out. I never understood it - why he would do that.” Hux’s voice trailed off and he chased it with another sip of moonshine.

“My mother always said the galaxy was fundamentally good. People are good, if they’re allowed to be. Most of them, anyway.” 

“Your mother was Shara Bey, wasn’t -”

“Don’t.” Dameron spoke sharply, catching Hux off guard. “Stop. Keep her name out of your mouth. You don’t deserve to talk about her.” Some of that earlier hatred had flared up in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Hux looked away, trying to defuse the tension. _You had no trouble bringing up my mother to mock me_ , he thought but didn’t say. It wasn’t worth it. He was too tired and too drunk to fight. “I’m sorry.” 

The other man sighed, the anger in his face dying down again. “Anyway, what happened to him? The Resistance fighter who saved you?”

Hux studied the floor, studied his scuffed boots, his torn trousers. “He ...he died.”

  
  


___

Cirus II, 15 Years Before

“Let me help you up!” The man shouted. “You don’t have to die here!”

“I - I -” Hux stammered, terror eclipsing all of his training. 

He might have stayed paralyzed by fear forever if another chunk of the collapsing ceiling hadn’t plummeted past his shoulder and into the widening chasm. That was all the motivation he needed to take the Resistance fighter’s hand and let himself be hoisted up. 

Once on solid ground, he collapsed onto his hands and knees, heaving through his panic. He looked up at the man who had saved him. He was about twice Hux’s age, strong and rugged-looking, clad in a filthy brown jumpsuit, the chest of which was emblazoned with the symbol of the old Rebel Alliance. 

“Why - why did you?” 

“Because I could,” the man said with an encouraging smile, “because it was the right thing to do. Don’t look so spooked. I promise I’m not going to hurt you or arrest you, I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” Hux repeated dumbly. This must be some soft way of saying ‘interrogation’.

“Yeah. Just talk. I saw you freeze back there. You don’t want to be doing this. You don’t have to be ... _this_ , you know. Not if you don’t want to. I can get you out. But first let’s go, this place isn’t going to last much longer.” 

Hux’s face was burning with shame. Shame for freezing in battle, for having to be saved by the enemy, and worst of all, for that small part of him which leapt at this rebel scum’s words - _you don’t have to be this_. But he did. He was. He always would be. 

He cast a look around - saw the bodies of his troopers - those that hadn’t fallen into the chasm below - scattered about the room. He was alone now, the battle was lost. He’d lost it. Even if he survived, even if he made it back to the First Order, they’d check his blaster, see that he hadn’t fired a single shot. They would know he had frozen up and he’d be punished for it. His father was right, he was useless - permanently, innately useless. All the training in the world wouldn’t fix that. 

_No_. No. He hadn’t lost. He was still alive, and the all important datachip was in his pocket. No one had to know what had happened here. This wasn’t the end.

He forced his legs to bear his weight, accepting what he would have to do.

“Attaboy!” His rescuer exclaimed, “now come on.”

He turned to go and Hux seized the opportunity, drawing his blaster and shooting the man in the back. His hands had finally stopped shaking. The shot was precise. The man died instantly. Still, he fired twice more, to ensure that if they checked his blaster, there would be no question of his loyalty. 

This was the first time he had killed another person. Guilt swelled up great and heavy inside him, but his shame, his fear was stronger, and his desire to live overpowered them all. He set off for the exit.

The base was coming down in earnest now, cracks widening into fissures in the floor of the entryway. By the time he cleared the door, Hux was practically sprinting. At last he stumbled out, blinking in the sudden sunlight. He had been in the base so long he had forgotten what it was like to breathe air free of dust. He gulped it in as the din of stone tearing itself apart and the blaring of the mine's emergency alert sirens rang in his ears.

His hands were steady when he produced his com. “This is First Lieutenant Hux requesting immediate extraction. I have acquired the asset.” His voice was cool.

“Affirmative, sir. We have your coordinates. A shuttle will arrive shortly to collect you."

He sat down on a rock to wait. When he slipped his com back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against something else. It was the holo of the officer and his wife. Hux switched it on and studied it. It was dimmer in the sunlight, but it was clear enough to fill him with that strange, unwieldy feeling all over again. This time though, the warmth it sparked in him only made his guilt and his shame seem colder by comparison. Just like the Resistance fighter who had saved him, the image seemed to make an impossible offer - a life he could never have, something it was too painful to want.

As the First Order shuttle touched down on the rocky ground, Hux tossed the holo as far as he could into the rubble of the old base. He was wrong to have taken it in the first place - it was a piece of a long-gone era, a ghost which should have stayed in its tomb. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait on this update! There were some larger story details I wanted to work out/revise and now I feel much happier with my plans for where this is all going. Thank you for bearing with me! More updates to come soon!

The Base, Two Months Before

Hux dreamed of _Starkiller_ \- of alarms blaring in hallways teaming with panicked personnel. He was shouting orders - though he couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. Someone was rushing him to a ship - _it’s lost sir, the base is lost you have to go_ \- they were right, he could feel the ground tearing itself apart beneath his feet. 

_I will have the power to destroy worlds_

His own voice echoed in his ears, the promise he had made to Admiral Brooks before he'd killed him. And he had - for one brief, ecstatic moment he had been everything he had promised himself he would be - he had been all-powerful, untouchable and now - now it was falling apart around him. He was nothing again. Part of him didn’t want to survive this - wanted to die like Tarkin on the Death Star, obliterated in a blaze of glory, gone before the rot of failure could reach him. 

Kylo Ren was missing, and where was Phasma? He kept asking where she was and they kept telling him they didn’t know - nobody knew. 

And then it wasn’t Starkiller Base - it was Arkanis and his legs were too short to keep up as his father pulled him roughly by the arm, shouting at him to hurry up, and the Rebels were coming and the world was ending and the chaos was closing in - 

and then he was falling - falling into the pit, his father standing far above him - he was falling for what felt like forever until suddenly -

He woke with a start, choking on air which was so cold it cut his lungs. Everything ached. His bones felt as if they were frozen in place, his joints protesting every movement. When he opened his eyes, he found ice had formed on his lashes. The control room was lit by a low, pulsating red light. The power must have gone out, leaving them at the mercy of a backup generator which extended to the emergency lighting but not heat. 

Fire. He had to make a fire. He crawled across the floor on shaking limbs, past the sleeping - or worse - Poe Dameron, to the pile of junk the man had brought up from below. First he pulled one of the old parkas over and wrapped it around himself. It reeked like an unwashed wookie but it was something between him and the biting cold. He tried not to breathe through his nose, and focused on the task at hand. 

There was crumpled paper, a wooden crate, a small plate made from hard stone that could work as flint, and the remains of the rope the brigands had used to bind them. It wasn’t much but it would do. He had been through plenty of survival sims - enough to know how to build the base for a good fire out of almost anything. He just needed a fire striker. _The knife._

Hux held his breath as he patted down Dameron. He couldn’t bear the thought of the man waking up and finding his hands on him. But he showed no signs of waking. There were little crystals of ice on his lashes, and his lips - slightly parted in sleep - were tinged blue. After he retrieved the knife from Dameron’s pocket, he felt for a pulse, pressing his pale, frigid fingers against the rough skin of the other man’s neck. It was there, strong and sure. 

Hux eyed the knife in his hand, glancing between it and the sleeping man’s throat. How easy it would be - how quick and convenient. Surely proof that he had killed Poe Dameron would go almost as far as delivering him alive, and it eliminated a great many risks. His fingers tightened around the blade. 

He hated this man - with every fiber of his being he hated him. That smug, cocky smile, his taunts. He thought of _Starkiller_ , falling apart beneath his very feet, his life’s work obliterated just as it was finally complete. He thought of the _Finalizer_ , damaged beyond repair, forcing him to transfer to the _Steadfast_. He thought of all the damage this man had caused to the First Order - to his career - the anger and humiliation and physical abuse he had suffered as a direct result of the actions of Poe Dameron and his friends. It would be so easy. He’d killed better men for less. And yet… 

His hand stayed itself, almost against his will. There was utility in keeping Dameron alive - for the time being at least. He was stronger than Hux was, uninjured, and clearly an adept at survival, and if he was trapped here alone for days he might go mad. Even if he was infuriating, the man might keep him sharp. And besides, saving Dameron this time might earn his trust, and that could prove a valuable asset down the line.

He struck the knife against the stone plate once, twice, again; holding it close to the unravelled rope and crumpled paper, waiting for a spark to catch. His fingers were so cold it was hard to grip either item firmly. Several times he dropped the plate and once he missed with the knife, cutting a gash into the side of one of his fingers. But at last a spark caught, and the tinder went up and then the kindling. He coaxed the little fire along, tending it until the blaze was substantial enough to keep itself alive. 

Dameron was still unconscious and showing no signs of stirring. Hux sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically for the benefit of no one in particular, before grabbing the other man by the collar of his flight suit and dragging him towards the fire. It was no small effort, especially with the pain of his not-quite-healed ribs, but if he wasn’t going to kill him he might as well take steps to keep him alive. He reached for the remaining parka and draped it over the man like a blanket. Perhaps the stench would help to wake him. 

Now that he had done what he could for Dameron, Hux returned to the much more natural act of taking care of himself. He held his hands over the now crackling little fire. Feeling returned to his fingers in the form of agonizing pain, especially in the finger he had sliced with the knife. He sat as near to the fire as he could without being in it, and leaned his face even closer. 

Between the flicker of the flames and the low, red, pulsating glow of the emergency lighting, the control room had taken on an unsettling character. The outdated consoles loomed large and blocky out of the gloom, and the deep shadows in the corners seemed to be constantly, subtly shifting. 

This whole situation struck him as wrong. The brigands had been too quick to leave - perhaps they were simply cowards, but something told Hux there was more to it. Perhaps ransoming the two of them to the highest bidder had only been part of a larger plan - perhaps it had never really been the plan at all, and he had played right into their trap. But what was the trap? What was the plan? He had never struggled to recognize traps or untangle webs of lies before - indeed his head for strategy and his quick thinking were his greatest strengths, the reason he had climbed so far so fast in the ranks of the Order. Now though, it felt as if he were seeing only part of an image, zoomed in beyond recognition. If he could just pull back, see the whole thing from a distant, objective place - from the bridge of a star destroyer far above the world - but he couldn’t. He was trapped here on the ground with no signal and only Poe Dameron to help him. And so the whole mess remained inscrutable.

Outside, the wind was still howling away, occasionally rattling the sides of the building, but otherwise it was utterly, almost eerily silent. Hux had never been especially comfortable with quiet, and there had been precious little of it in the First Order. Even the nights were filled with the subtle, soothing propaganda messages played on a loop to fill one’s dreams with loyal thoughts. Sound and stimulus had kept him grounded. Silence gave his worries room to grow dense and dark as black holes. In the absence of other voices, his mind supplied him with echoes of things he’d rather forget.

_It’s all about to change, more than you can comprehend_ Kylo Ren had said, _everything you’ve ever done is a speck of dust compared to what is to come_ . He could feel it too - things changing - the First Order’s aim shifting. There _was_ something coming - he just couldn’t see it yet.

He had spent most of his life on ships, looking out at the vastness of space with very little experience with the concept of a horizon. He had always been able to see forever - or at least as far as his eyes and the light would allow - without the limiting curve of a planet to obscure what was ahead. Now he felt as though he understood horizons and how something could be ahead of him - not so very far ahead - and yet impossible to see beyond the curve of time and circumstances and secrecy. 

But Kylo Ren could see what was over the horizon, and, Hux suspected, Pryde had been let in on the secret too. That left him exposed and vulnerable and in the dark. Nothing could shake his loyalty to the Order, but there was a small part of him, louder in the silence, that worried he was fighting his way back to a First Order which was fundamentally different from the one he had dedicated his life to. 

And what if it was? What then? Obviously he would serve it to the end - to whatever end. What else was he good for? Why else had he done every terrible thing he had ever done?

“Fuck. Why’s it so kriffing cold?” 

Dameron woke with a grunt and a string of mumbled curses, startling Hux so much he nearly fell into the fire. The man pulled himself up into a seated position, moving closer to the fire and wrapping the parka tighter about his shoulders.

“The power must have gone out in the night,” Hux said coolly. “You’re welcome, by the way. If I hadn’t woken when I did we might both be dead.”

The other man glanced around until his eyes rested on the knife. Hux hadn’t bothered to hide it. He left it sitting beside him where the flames would glint off of it conspicuously. He wanted Dameron to see it, to understand that he had had his chance to strike and hadn’t taken it. The look of confusion and then grudging understanding in the man’s eyes showed Hux his plan had worked. 

“Here,” he slid the weapon back to its owner. “I had to borrow it to get the fire going.” Another show of civility offered in exchange for a little more trust. 

Dameron snatched it up jealously, but his expression had softened a little. “Thanks,” he said, avoiding Hux’s eyes. 

“You know,” he added after a moment's pause, his lips turning up at the corners, “I’m kind of surprised you can even make a fire. You never struck me as a…”

“Outdoorsman?” Hux supplied dryly.

“...person with survival skills.” The other man finished. “I mean with the pasty skin and the whole …” he gestured at all of Hux, “I just assumed you didn’t get off the ship much.”

Hux met Dameron’s impish smirk with a scowl. This _was_ the first real fire he had ever built, but he’d never let that get out. 

“At any rate,” he said brusquely, “once we’ve warmed up a bit we should go back down and search the base again. You can gather more fuel for the fire - this was a good start but it won’t last forever. You should also fetch some water, and something to boil it in to make it potable. We won’t survive long only drinking moonshine. And, more importantly, we can’t make caf without it. Meanwhile, I’ll search the base for clues.”

The other man scoffed. “I don’t take orders from you. Why don’t you get all that yourself? I went last time. And what kind of ‘clues’ are you looking for exactly?”

Despite his plan to ingratiate himself with his enemy, Hux couldn’t stop the frustration creeping into his voice. “I can’t carry heavy loads because my leg is still broken, Dameron. Because - and do stop me if you’ve already heard this one - because my ship was shot down and crashed rather spectacularly into a tree.”

The other man inclined his head at that, as if to concede the point.

“And as for what clues I’m looking for - I want to understand more about our would-be captors, who they are, who they work for, and most importantly, what their real plan might be.”

“Their ...real plan?” Dameron was looking at him like he’d just started speaking another language. “Little early for cabin fever, isn't it?”

“Think about it, Dameron - they were far too quick to abandon their plans and leave us here. There must be something else at work.”

“You seemed pretty confident you’d scared them off yesterday.”

“I was confident I had saved us from immediate danger, and I did,” said Hux, squaring his shoulders defensively. He wasn’t afraid to put his own pride aside and admit his mistakes when it was necessary to get his way, but he didn’t enjoy it. “But I was short sighted. I was distracted and then I was drunk. We both were. The more I think about it the more it feels ...off.”

Dameron nodded. Hux could almost see his mind working, the pieces coming together behind his dark eyes. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together slowly before the fire and shook his head. 

“But if their scheme wasn’t really to ransome us off, why risk it? That just pisses off both sides, and where’s the profit?”

“Suppose the real profit was never in the ransomes,” said Hux, feeling himself slipping into his element, as if he were on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ again, laying out some brilliant scheme to Phasma or Mitaka or one of his other officers - the closest he ever felt to self-assured. “The First Order was never going to pay a ransom, and frankly, I doubt the Resistance has enough credits in its whole reserve to make this scheme worthwhile.”

For a moment Dameron looked like he might try to argue that last point, but he held back and nodded. “So what’s the real payday?” He mused, the light of the dancing across the planes of his face.

“That’s precisely the question,” said Hux, unable to suppress the edge of enthusiasm in his voice. 

“You think they’d be stupid enough to leave clues behind in the base?”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re stupid - they’ve already proven themselves smarter than we gave them credit - but its almost impossible to get away completely clean. There will be something and I will uncover it. Then their days are numbered.” 

Dameron looked up at Hux, dark eyes glinting out from under the shadow of his furrowed brow. “That was ...actually really smart, you know that?”

“No need to sound so shocked,” scoffed Hux, but the other man’s words did make his back straighten and his chest puff out just a little more.

“I’m just saying, it’s a shame you had to be such an evil bastard, Hugs. Imagine what that big brain could do if you used it for good.”

Hux’s pride flickered a little at the word _bastard_ but he swallowed the indignity, along with the myriad of responses he would have liked to throw at Dameron, and instead rose ungracefully to his feet. 

“We’d better get going,” he said brusquely, setting off at a limp, “the sooner we start looking, the sooner we can get back to the fire.” He pulled the parka tighter around himself as he left the immediate warmth of the makeshift hearth and entered fully into the merciless cold.

The emergency backup power did not extend to the lift, but it did still open doors. It was clearly designed to facilitate an escape from the base should the power go out, not to keep it habitable long term. This meant that Hux had to lower himself agonizingly down the ladder of an access hatch to reach the lower level. Dameron went down first, and watched the struggle with thinly-veiled amusement.

“So what do we already know about them?” He asked, walking slightly ahead of Hux down the hall toward the kitchen and mess hall.

“Names,” said Hux, “some of them at any rate. They called the woman Nim. The Twi’Lek used an alias with us when we did business. He called himself ‘Duralium’.”

“Duralium? That’s a … it’s a metal, right?”

Hux’s breath left his lips in a fog as he sighed. “Well done, Dameron, yes, it’s a metal, specifically one used in steel reinforcement. It struck me as odd when I heard it the first time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because duralium is primarily used in shipbuilding and architecture. It doesn’t have any obvious applications in weapons-making, so it was an odd choice of pseudonym for an arms supplier.” Again, a bit of pride slipped in as Hux explained his thought process.

Rather than looking impressed, Dameron stared at him incredulously. “How - no - _why_ do you know that?” 

“Because a competent general should have at least a basic understanding of how the ships and stations he commands are built, including the market for their raw materials.” He let a note of condescension slip into his voice. He had spent enough lonely hours when he was younger, filling his empty life with facts and figures that he felt he had earned that condescension.

Dameron rolled his eyes spectacularly but let the slight go without comment.

“So, what do you think it means then?” He asked, “why did he call himself Duralium if it’s got nothing to do with what he does?”

“It might not mean anything,” Hux cautioned, his voice tinged with annoyance, “or it might mean something totally irrelevant to us. We don’t have enough context to know that yet. Rushing to conclusions will only make it harder to work out the truth.” 

They approached the kitchen and as the door slid open, Hux was hit with a waft of that rancid stench he had caught when he last came this way. It was all he could do to suppress a gag as they stepped inside. To his surprise, the room was fairly clean, or it appeared to be under the thin crust of frost that had formed over everything. Indeed, it didn’t look like it had been used at all in a long time. The metal dishes were all cleaned and stowed on shelves above the sink. The sink itself was empty too, not even a trace of old food or crusted grime to speak to recent use. The back of the room seemed once to have been a pantry. Now though, the shelves were empty save a large container of salt and a few more bottles of the moonshine.

“Like I said before,” Dameron spoke up, “not much in here. Those protein packs and the instant caf I brought up last time were pretty much it. They didn’t leave us much, not unless you want to start eating the salt.”

“Nobody’s used this kitchen for a long time,” Hux thought aloud. “Our captors weren’t planning to stay long, and they certainly hadn’t been living here for any amount of time before this.”

“You’re right, it’s too clean.” Dameron agreed. “You can’t see it now because of the frost, but when I came down here yesterday this place was covered in dust.” 

“Interesting.” Hux narrowed his eyes as he looked the room over. “That does beg the question of where that stench is coming from…”

The two men searched the small kitchen in silence for a moment. Hux was inspecting the far backs of the pantry shelves when he heard the other man gag out a string of curses and the smell suddenly worsened exponentially.

Dameron was standing over the opening of the garbage chute, covering his mouth and nose with one of his hands. There was a body wedged halfway down. It was not a species Hux was familiar with - an insectoid race, about twice as tall as human. It was wearing a jumpsuit with some kind of logo on the front, though it was impossible to make out at this distance and in the pulsing red emergency backup lighting. There was what appeared to be a long, wooden harpoon sticking out of its chest.

“Well,” Dameron said, looking up from the gruesome sight, “at least we know where the smell was coming from.”

“That logo on its clothes - what do you make of it?” It was unlikely either of them could see it well enough in these conditions, but a pilot’s eyes might be better trained to spot details at a distance in low lighting.

The other man reluctantly turned back to the chute and squinted down it. “It’s hard to tell. I think the second word is ‘mining’?”

“Mining …” Hux repeated quietly.

If he only had access to a working datapad he could pull up mining operations on this planet and its neighbors, perhaps look into whether or not duralium was mined on any of those worlds, and run a cross-check for the name ‘Nim’- he could solve this whole mess in five minutes. But he didn’t have a datapad. He had only his wits and the clues in front of him and - for better or worse - he had Poe Dameron. This was going to be a test of his deductive skills and his patience.

“Right,” he said after another moment, “close that chute, I can’t bear this stench anymore. I’ll keep searching for evidence, you should start gathering fuel for the fire. And don’t forget to fetch water - this should do well enough to boil it in.” He limped over and grabbed a small pot from one of the shelves above the sink before holding it out to Dameron.

The other man crossed his arms. “I told you before, I don’t take orders from you.” His eyes were lit up defiantly, his shoulders squared. “I will _never_ take orders from you.” Even pulled up to his full height he was several inches shorter than Hux, but you wouldn’t know it by his presence.

Hux gave a disinterested sigh. “There’s no point in playing these games, Dameron. Go gather water and fuel for the fire - if not because I said so then because you also need to keep warm and stay hydrated. If I could do it all myself and save the trouble of arguing with you, believe me, I would.” He turned to go, shoving the little pot into one of the large pockets of his parka. There were more rooms to search and even though his face was hot with frustration, the cold was already eating its way to the core of him. He didn’t look back at the other man as he limped out of the kitchen and the door hissed shut behind him. 

He checked the mess hall next. Again it was clean and seemingly unused. From the number of seats he guessed at one point this base was made to hold around fifty men. Not a massive garrison, but enough to mark this world as significant to the Republic. Or it had been once. This planet was so far out it was practically in Wildspace. Hux had done only preliminary reading on this world before his meeting with Duralium, but it was enough to know it was sparsely-populated and ungoverned and had been for a long time. The Empire had paid it little mind and the New Republic had all but ignored it. It was the perfect place to arrange an arms deal, or set a trap.

The beds in the barracks confirmed his suspicions about the number of soldiers this place was built to hold. All of them had been stripped of blankets and even their mattresses. At first he thought it curious that someone would have raided this place for blankets, but left all the dishes and at least a little of the food in the kitchen - but then he supposed it was little wonder that with a climate like this, thieves would prioritise warmth over virtually anything else. 

Next was the dingy medbay where the droid had treated his injuries. There was a roll of bandages, a few unsanitary-looking surgical knives, and a completely used up tube of bacta gel. There must have been just enough to get his bones to start mending but not enough to fully heal him.

There was an office which Hux hoped would yield some useful information. There were some scattered papers, most too old to be legible. He gathered a bundle of them to use as fuel for the fire. A peace offering for Dameron. Perhaps he should have watched his tone earlier. Arguing was counterproductive, especially to his goal of earning the man’s trust enough for him to let his guard down. He _had_ been right of course, it made more sense for Dameron to do the heavy lifting - Hux was already unsure he could make it back up the ladder to the access hatch on his own. It was easier to state these needs as orders than ask them as favors. Needing help with anything was a shameful thing and needing help from an enemy was even worse. But this wouldn’t be the first, and certainly not the worst, time he had had to debase himself in order to survive and maintain control of the situation.

There was an old computer on the desk. If he had a tech here, or even a droid, he could slice into the old thing - surely the files it contained could tell him something. Perhaps when this was all over, when the First Order arrived, he could order a team to investigate. But he didn’t have the luxury of time to wait for that. 

It was in one of the desk drawers that Hux finally struck gold. Under a dusty, defunct datapad, was a holmap. He held his breath as he switched it on. There was a good chance that it wouldn’t work - that even if it did, the years of disuse could have degraded the image beyond recognition. But the red glow of the emergency lighting was disrupted by blue as the map flickered to life and spread out before him. It wasn’t a large map, only opening into a circle about the size of a large dinner plate, but it showed in detail a section of the planet’s surface including the base and the woods nearby where his ship had crashed. There appeared to be a few different subterranean tunnel systems marked out as well, some of them highlighted in red. At the center of a tangle of tunnels marked entirely in red was a circular logo. It was hard to tell, but he was almost certain it was the same logo that had been on the chest of the dead being in the garbage chute. 

Just as he leaned in to take a closer look, Dameron’s voice echoed from outside.

“Hux! Come here, look at this!” 

His first reaction was annoyance at being disturbed in the middle of his investigation. But perhaps the other man had found a clue of his own. Another body perhaps. He sighed and switched off the holomap, stowing it in a pocket.

“Where are you?” He called back, limping as quickly as he could out of the office and down the hall.

“The landing bay.”

Hux followed his voice down the hall and through a set of double doors and then suddenly he was blind and deaf. He threw up an arm to shield his face but it was too late, a searing whiteness had swallowed up the world, burning his eyes to oblivion. At the same moment his ears were overwhelmed with a roaring and a moaning so loud and constant it was like a physical force. He stumbled back, nearly falling, but a rough hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him upright.

“I should have warned you,” Dameron’s voice came, shouting through the whiteness, closer than he expected “it’s bright. But wait ‘til you see it.” 

The grip on his shoulder let up and the hand gave him a brusque pat on the back.

It took a few painful seconds but Hux’s vision did begin to reconstitute itself. The landing bay was almost entirely empty, save a tool bench and more wooden crates. The speeder that had brought them here was parked in a corner. But all of that was background noise compared to what was before him. The front of the landing bay was separated from the elements only by a flickering energy shield. Beyond that was the storm.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Dameron shouted.

Hux opened his mouth, but no words came out. No words could do it justice. 

A brutal, swirling whiteness had engulfed the landscape so that even the ground a few feet past the shield was impossible to make out. It wasn't a solid witness either, it was flecked with grey and black and fragments of rainbows as the light got caught up in prisms of ice. Occasionally something larger would whip by - debris, swept up in the wind. And the noise - the wind wailed and roared and bellowed like a wounded giant. 

He had never doubted that the storm was real, but to see it was another thing altogether. It was utterly overwhelming - utterly sublime. He had seen terrible beauty like this only once before, when _Starkiller Base_ had fired. But then he had been in control. Its sublimity had been his - it had filled him up, made him feel bigger than the whole universe, if only for a fleeting moment. Now, in the face of this roaring, roiling monstrosity, he felt weaker and smaller, and more powerless than he ever had before. 

The two men stood side by side in silence for a long time, just taking it in.


	5. Chapter 5

Arkanis, Thirty Years Before

Even if she had given birth to him herself, Maratelle would probably still hate Armitage, as she hated most things in her life, but the fact of his birth by her husband’s mistress certainly did nothing to help. She was open about the fact that she did not care for children in general - they combined her three least favorite things: mess, noise, and stupid people. That, she said, was why she and Brendol had never had a child of their own. 

Armitage knew all that even if it didn’t all make sense to him. Though he was very young, he was no fool. He knew what pleased the adults in his life, what irritated them, and most importantly, what was likely to get him hit. Mostly, he tried to stay out of everybody’s way. But he couldn’t help but be fascinated with Maratelle. Where so much about their home on Arkanis was dark and austere, Maratelle was like a colorful dream. She wore elegant dresses and expensive perfume and drank the best liquor while rubbing shoulders with the Arkanisian elite. Armitage wanted her to like him - he wanted to prove to her that he deserved to be liked or at least not to be hated - and so he tried his hardest to be neat, quiet and clever. There was nothing he could do about who his mother was, but he would try to win her over anyway. 

The strange thing was that Maratelle didn’t simply avoid or reject him. Indeed, sometimes she insisted that he stay close and do little favors for her. Sometimes, she would reach out with a soft, perfectly manicured hand, and stroke his cheek or muss his hair. She would call him  _ dear  _ or  _ darling _ , with a smile on her lips, but then, just as quickly, she would turn cruel. He never knew what to expect from her, and so he was always on edge. 

On this day, Commandant Hux was away on urgent business, and Maratelle was in high spirits. She had put a bouquet of flowers on the table, and invited a couple of her friends over to gossip and gamble over drinks and sweets. They were all elegant women like her. Arkanis was not a wealthy planet but it had wealthy people and Maratelle seemed to know all of them. 

Armitage was supposed to be in the care of his father’s droid Deedee, but Maratelle had sent her into town on some errand, leaving him alone. He stayed in his room and tried to keep quiet, amusing himself with a model TIE fighter, silently mouthing the sounds he imagined it making as it flew through space, shooting at rebel X-Wings. He thought he might like to fly a ship some day - not a TIE fighter - something safe and discrete - or maybe he just wanted to fly away. 

Suddenly there was a burst of laughter from down the hall. 

“And I told her,” someone was saying, “I told her the Empire hasn’t fallen yet, not on Arkanis, and unless she happened to be commuting from Endor there was absolutely no excuse for being late to work.”

“Oh you're so mean!” Someone else chimed in with a chuckle. She said  _ mean _ as if it was a compliment.

“Well I won’t stand for people using a galactic tragedy as an excuse to slack off. If we all stop what we’re doing and wring our hands then the Rebels win, don’t they? If it wasn’t so hard to find good help these days I swear I’d fire her.”

“Precisely! Well said.”

Armitage set down his TIE fighter and slunk to his bedroom door, trying to listen in on the conversation. He had never heard so much laughter at once. He wanted to see what was happening and so cautiously, he opened his door and slipped down the hall until he was just around the corner from the living room. Ever so carefully, making sure to keep his body pressed tight to the wall, he peeked around the corner.

Two women sat on the sofa with their backs to him while Maratelle, clad in a crisp white dress, was sitting in the armchair which was usually reserved for Brendol. She lounged in it with more ease and grace, Armitage thought, than any queen ever had in her throne. In one hand she held her cards like a fan, and in the other a small blue sweet, dusted in powdered sugar, which she was currently too busy laughing to eat. Her laugh was a carefully rehearsed performance - refined, musical, not too loud or too obvious - but it was tinged with just enough real mirth to be believable, especially to Armitage at that age. 

Suddenly the laugh tightened into a stiff smile and her eyes snapped up to stare directly at him. “Armitage dear, don’t skulk around corners, it’s not polite,” she said, her tone still light and innocuous. “If you’re going to eavesdrop why don’t you make yourself useful and fetch us some whiskey from the kitchen? The nice stuff your father thinks he’s hidden away at the back of the pantry.”

Armitage stood upright and emerged awkwardly from his room, his cheeks burning with the shame of being caught.

“Oh!” One of the women on the sofa turned to look at him - or more accurately to gawp at him as if he were some kind of tragically ugly sea creature that had washed up on land. “Is that  _ him _ , Mara? Is that the boy?”

“It is,” said Maratelle, her smile tightening further. “Come here, Armitage, let’s have a little look at you.”

Armitage’s embarrassment was so intense he thought he might actually be sick, but he dutifully walked into the center of the living room, standing beside Maratelle, facing the two ladies on the sofa. One of them was square-jawed and stern looking, the other delicate and bird-like with wide eyes and a strong nose. Both were looking at him quizzically. It felt as if they were all waiting for him to do something, but he wasn’t sure what it was he was supposed to do. Maratelle had put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a comforting hand, more like a trap, waiting to spring if he tried to run.

“Well there isn’t very much of him, is there?” The square-jawed one asked, raising her eyebrows. “How old is he?”

“Armitage is five years old,” Maratelle said, her fingers moving up his shoulders to stroke his hair “aren’t you dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice caught in his throat. 

“A bit small for five.” The square-jawed woman remarked. “Are you feeding him, Mara?” This spoken with a chuckle as if she thought what she had just said was incredibly funny. 

“Oh we’re feeding him, he just refuses to grow, don’t you dear?”

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m trying my best.”

The women on the sofa laughed and Armitage was relieved. He had passed whatever strange test this was.

“He’s doing his best! That’s just precious,” the bird-like one chuckled. 

“You’d best keep trying, dear, the Empire will need strong children if it’s going to survive.” The square-jawed woman’s tone was light, but there was something serious behind her eyes.

“Five years already,” mused the bird-like woman, her lips turned up at the corners in a smile that was anything but kind, “it seems like only yesterday we all heard about the affair.”

Maratelle’s hand abruptly stopped its stroking motion on the back of his head.

“Well time does seem to fly by doesn’t it,” she said. “Speaking of - Armitage, darling why don’t you go on and get that whiskey like I asked you. Bring it on the tray along with the good crystal glasses. When you come back, you can have a sweet.”

Armitage wasn’t sure which motivated him more - the promise of a sweet or the chance to get away from those women. 

As he hurried to the kitchen he heard Maratelle say “you know, the older he gets the more he takes after his mother. She was a mousy little thing too. Dreadfully plain.”

“Well given that you’ve already got him fixing drinks,” one of the other women said with a chuckle, “it seems like he’s inherited some of her more useful traits as well.”

The voices mercifully faded from earshot as he got to the kitchen. No one ever told Armitage about his mother, but it wasn’t a secret either. People talked about it all the time, just never to him. And never _ about _ her, not really. He had never seen her or been told her name. All anybody ever called her was ‘that girl’ or ‘the kitchen woman’. None of those words by themselves were insults, but something about the way people said them made it clear they neither liked nor respected her. He supposed he ought to dislike her too - to put her down and act like he wasn’t related to her. But truth be told - and he was ashamed even to think it - he would have traded all the approval of all the adults he knew, just to meet his mother.

He would have liked to linger in the kitchen longer, but he didn’t dare keep Maratelle waiting. He returned, the decanter of whiskey and three glasses balanced on a tray. 

“Ah, there he is!” Maratelle turned to look at him, “Thank you, Armitage, just sit it on the coffee table, won’t you dear?”

“He is a useful little thing isn’t he?” The bird-like woman said with a smirk. “I suppose I see why you keep him around. Not everyone would be so generous with their husband’s child. You really are a good woman, Mara.” She said  _ good _ like it was a bad thing.

“I don’t know what I would do if my husband put me through that,” the square-jawed woman remarked, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive him, let alone take in the child.”

“I don’t think I’d ever forgive  _ myself, _ ” the bird-like one chimed back in. “I’d be forever wondering what I did to drive him to that, what it was he needed that I couldn’t give him.”

Armitage paused above the box of multi-colored sweets. Maratelle had promised him one in return for fetching the whiskey, but it still felt like he was breaking a rule by taking one. And there were so many colors to choose from…

“What are you doing, standing around, Armitage?”

When his eyes snapped up to Maratelle’s face, he found it hardened into an expression of pure disgust. 

“I’m sorry, I was going to take one - you-you said.” He gestured weakly at the box of sweets.

“Then make up your mind and take one,” she snapped, “and go play outside, won’t you? It isn’t right for little boys to spend all day lurking around the house.”

“I’m sorry -” 

Armitage took one of the sweets in a panic without looking, knocking the whole box over and spilling little colored cubes across the coffee table and onto the floor.

“I’m sorry-” He fell to his knees to try and clean them up, but the powdered sugar that coated their outsides was coming off onto the carpet, onto his hands, onto his clothes.

The ladies on the couch were laughing unkindly.

“Oh, stop it, you can’t put them back! They’re already ruined, you’ve ruined them!” Maratelle stood up abruptly and grabbed Armitage by the arm, pulling him to his feet and dragging him out of the room. “Why do you insist on embarrassing me, Armitage? Why must you ruin everything?” She hissed as they descended the stairs to the foyer. “This was never supposed to be my job. I was never supposed to have to look after you.” 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” He pleaded, trying to keep up. He couldn’t bear that she was angry with him - that he had disappointed her, when he had been doing so well just moments before.

“You never mean to. That’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s just … what you are.”

They were at the front door now. She pulled it open and shoved him out, into the chill air.

“Just...play outside won’t you? Entertain yourself for a few hours. Make a friend if anyone will have you. I don’t care, just stay out of my hair.”

And with that, the great door slammed shut, leaving him standing alone on the drive.

  
  


___

The Base,Two Months Before

The auxiliary power cut out shortly after Hux and Dameron made it back to the control room, the throbbing red light dying with a whine. Hux looked up from the water he had set to boil above the newly-rebuilt fire which was now the only source of light. Dameron’s face was an inscrutable mask, chiseled out of light and shadow, looking in turns perturbed and determined depending on the way the fire flickered. The two men met each other's eyes but made no comment. 

They had barely spoken since leaving the landing bay, as if neither of them really knew how to put words to what they had seen, or what it meant. There was a sense that something had changed - their enmity and the war raging in the galaxy seemed less immediate in the face of the storm. Their hatred for one another was far from gone or forgotten, but even Dameron seemed to have allowed it to take a necessary backseat to survival. In the absence of hostile bickering, they had lapsed into silence and stayed that way for a long time.

Hux spoke first, when the water came to a boil. 

“Cups.” He said, holding out a hand. His words sounded harsh and awkward after the long quiet, but it was a relief to break the seal.

Dameron passed him two cups he had brought up from the kitchen.

“Caf.” Another monosyllabic hole punched in the silence.

The other man passed two packets of instant caf. Normally, Hux would use two packets of the powder for one cup. It was the only way to keep the drink from tasting like barely-flavored, gritty water. But they only had so much of the stuff, and in the end, Hux would rather have several days’ worth of terrible, watery caf than a cup or two that was palatable. He half-filled each of the cups, careful not to waste a drop of precious potable water, and mixed in the coarse black powder as best as he could.

“Here,” he passed a cup to the other man, careful that their fingers never touched in the handoff. 

Dameron nodded his thanks and took a cautious sip. Suddenly his features contorted into a grimace as he forced himself to swallow.

“That’s kriffing awful!” He gagged, glaring at Hux with watering eyes.

Hux scoffed. “You’re hardly in a position to be picky. Besides, it’s no worse than the moonshine.”

“At least the moonshine got me drunk. This is just piss.”

Hux took a sip of his own caf. Once the initial pain of the liquid scalding his tongue wore off, the flavor was, admittedly, terrible. But it was also familiar. It tasted like every morning of his life, like routine. 

“You get used to it,” he said, “after a while.”

Dameron glanced at him a moment as if he was going to ask a question, but seemed to think better of it, and instead produced one of the protein packs, tearing open the wrapping and breaking the gelatinous block inside in two. He offered half to Hux and again there was an awkward shuffling of fingers to avoid touching. 

“So,” Dameron said, biting into his half unenthusiastically and proceeding to talk through the food in his mouth, “what do you think is going on? Did you find any more clues down there?”

Truth be told, the storm had all but blown the thought of the mystery they were embroiled in from Hux’s mind. He fumbled for a moment, producing the holomap from the pocket of his trousers and switching it on, its dim blue glow lending a little extra light to the dark control room.

Dameron’s eyes grew wide. “Is that-”

“I found it in the office downstairs.” said Hux, sitting the map on the ground between them so he could better point out the details. “It’s old - Clone-Wars era like the rest of the base, so it may be outdated, and I can’t be entirely sure of the scale, but here’s the base, and the trees where my ship went down. And then there’s the tunnels.”

“Yeah, what’s up with those?” The other man leaned in closer. “Wait - that logo - that was the one on that dead guy’s clothes. Something to do with mining. So all those tunnels are mines.”

“Yes!” He said, more enthusiastically than he meant to, “Precisely. Well, the ones marked in red are mines, but the other tunnels - those are something else. Look at their layout. Don’t they look different to you?”

Dameron squinted. “I guess they’re more spread out - more complicated.”

“And what does that suggest?”

The other man’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me? It sounds like you already know the answer.”

“It’s important that you understand  _ how  _ I came to these conclusions. It will help you make your own deductions.”

Dameron crossed his arms. “Okay, first of all, I don’t need to learn anything from you. And second, even if I did,  _ why  _ are you trying to teach me? So I can outsmart you at your own game the next time we fight?”

Hux was taken aback. He hadn’t thought about why he was explaining things like this to Dameron. He had slipped into it unconsciously and hadn’t stopped to question it. Maybe he just liked hearing the sound of his own voice. Maybe he just liked having someone listen and take him seriously - even if that person was his enemy. He would, of course, die before he said any of that outloud. Instead he straightened up and looked down his nose at the other man. “Well it would be nice if I wasn’t the only one solving this mystery.” He said. “Forgive me for trying to get you up to speed - maybe even make you useful.”

“Make me useful?” Dameron snorted. “You couldn’t even collect fuel for the fire yourself. If it wasn’t for me you would have frozen to death by now. You might be the brains of the operation, but I’m the brawn ...and the looks.” He added that last bit with a self-congratulatory grin. It was a calculated choice to keep the tone light.

“I wouldn’t go giving yourself too many accolades, Dameron,” Hux smirked. He could do this dance too - joking and prodding and edging around the difficult topics.

“Okay, so explain it to me,” the other man said, “what’s up with the other tunnels.”

“They follow their own logic, but they don’t seem to be following the shape of any kind of mineral vein. They were obviously made intentionally, but with a different purpose in mind. I believe they’re burrows of some kind, home to some native species. But there’s more to it - you see the highlighted sections - the mines - they’re also full of detours - paths that don’t make sense. You see, the mines weren’t formed separately. They were formed out of the burrows.”

Dameron nodded his understanding. He  _ was  _ keeping up with Hux - something not even his own officers were always capable of doing. “So the mines, the base, the dead guy in the garbage chute, they’re connected - and that has something to do with the people who captured us.”

“Exactly.”

“But what does any of that actually have to do with  _ us _ ? With the First Order and the Resistance?”

At that Hux’s confidence faltered. “I don’t know,” he admitted grimly. “There are still too many pieces missing.” It was as if they were looking at incomplete blueprints for some complicated device neither of them had ever seen. Even with many of what seemed to be the important details, the larger meaning was still impossible to glean and what the greater function might be was even further beyond them. 

“Well,” said Dameron, taking another painful-looking sip of his caf, “it looks like we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.” 

After a long pause he grudgingly added “To be fair, you’ve done pretty well on this so far Hugs. I guess if I was gonna be stuck in some kind of insane mystery conspiracy situation with one of the worst people in the galaxy, I’d rather it be you than ...I don’t know, Kylo Ren. ” 

Hux humphed a wry half-laugh. “If you were trapped here with Kylo Ren, you would absolutely be dead by now. If he didn’t choke the life out of you at the first smart comment, he’d get you both killed trying to trudge through that storm out of pure stubbornness.”

Hux took a bite of his half of the protein block. Another flavor (or in this case lack thereof) that reminded him of countless meals throughout his life. Real food had been rare in the First Order, especially in those early days.

“Trouble in the ranks, General?” Dameron’s eyes lit up. He was no fool, he was watching Hux just as carefully as Hux was watching him. A truce for the sake of survival didn’t mean either of them would forget who they served. 

Hux would give him crumbs - enough to make him comfortable and confident - enough to convince him to drop a few crumbs of his own.

“You’ve met the man,” he said, sipping his caf. It had already gone cold which only made it worse. “I’m sure you can imagine what he’s like to work with.” 

Absentmindedly, almost unconsciously, his hand rose to massage his throat. He saw Dameron notice that too and hated himself for letting on more than he meant to.

“That’s the way it is in war, isn’t it?” He said with a shrug, his tone as light as he could make it. “One can’t always choose one’s allies.”

They both fell quiet for a moment. Hux kept his eyes on the fire, but he could feel Dameron watching him. 

“You’re right,” The other man spoke first, “you can’t choose your allies, but you can choose your side.” His tone was serious - a breach of the tenuous social contract between them. 

Hux didn’t look up, but he felt the intensity of Dameron’s eyes on him - could imagine his expression - the hard squareness of his jaw, the shadow of his furrowed brow. 

“In my experience,” he said, prodding the fire with a piece of wood, “people are what they are, and they tend to die in the same camp they were born into. We’ve all been cast in our parts, and I’m not sorry for what mine is.”

In the silence that followed, Hux sat in his words, and knew they were true. He had always known what he was. No one had ever let him forget it. But there was comfort in that too - no matter how uncertain the galaxy around him, he had his sense of self, his sense of purpose. 

“Well that’s fucking bleak.” Remarked Dameron at last.

___

Arkanis, Thirty Years Before

It was dark by the time Deedee came to fetch Armitage home. He had roamed the grounds of the house and beyond, the damp grass soaking his shoes until his footfalls were soft squelches. At last, as the suns were setting, he had come to the edge of a cliff which overlooked the sea. He liked this place. His father had taken him here once. He told him the sea was full of monsters that attacked ships and could swallow a nerf calf whole. Up close the sea was a terrifying thing, but from up here, he was safe. Neither the crashing waves nor the hungry sea monsters could reach him here. He sat down and let his legs hang over the edge. 

He thought about Maratelle - how quickly she had gone from happy to angry. He felt terrible for doing that to her, for making a mess in front of her friends. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, people seemed to hate him. All he seemed capable of was ruining things and disappointing people. He felt tears stinging his eyes and for once he let them flow. There was no one here to be angry with him for crying. He wrapped his arms around himself like a hug and sobbed. He cried until the last trace of sunlight faded, and he was so tired it was all he could do to lie down on the wet grass. 

Armitage heard Deedee before he saw her. He’d recognize those heavy footfalls anywhere.

“Armitage Hux,” her voice was monotone as ever but it felt exasperated nonetheless. “I have been searching everywhere for you. And what are you doing at the edge of a cliff? Commandant Hux would have me destroyed if you died. Now come with me.”

“I’m sorry.” Armitage mumbled, getting up from the edge of the cliff.

“And look at your trousers. You’ve ruined them.” She shook her head as she admonished him, but she offered him a cold metal hand. 

Deedee was not exactly warm or nurturing, but Armitage was almost positive she didn’t hate him the way everyone else seemed to. He didn’t think droids were allowed to hate people. 

“Deedee?” Armitage looked up at the droid’s blank, black faceplate.

“What is it Armitage?”

“Is father home yet?” Brendol Hux was terrifying and dangerous, but Armitage dreaded coming home just to Maratelle and her disappointment.

“Unfortunately Commandant Hux is delayed off-world. He will return tomorrow.”

“Oh.” They were approaching the lights of the house now. “Deedee?”

“Yes?”

“Am I ...am I bad?” Maybe it was a stupid question, but it weighed heavy on him after everything that had happened that day, and if anybody would tell him the truth it would be this droid.

“Not at the moment.” She said. Her voice was flat as ever but it was still a great comfort. 

Armitage didn’t realize how cold he was until he stepped into the warmth of the house. 

“Take off your shoes,” Deedee said, letting go of his hand, “and go upstairs and change. Your dinner will be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Armitage nodded, slipping out of his damp shoes and carrying them with him up the stairs. His heart was pounding in his chest as he ascended the stairs. Perhaps Maratelle would have gone to bed. Perhaps she would be in a good mood again and all would be forgiven. 

All hope died when he crested the stairs and saw down the hall into the living room. She was still in Brendol’s chair, facing away from him. Her friends were gone, and the bottle of whiskey sat empty beside her seat. Armitage swallowed hard. Perhaps she was asleep. He could slip past her and -

“Come here Armitage,” her voice dragged itself lazily from her lips.

His heart was pounding in his throat but he obeyed. Of course he obeyed. Maratelle was sitting low in the chair, strands of her dark hair coming loose from her bun and hanging in limp tendrils around her face. Her eyes were bleary but they still held great and terrible power as she looked him up and down.

“Look at you,” she said, as if she wasn’t really talking to him, “you poor, bastard boy.”

Armitage withdrew into himself at that. He had heard the word used  _ about  _ him, but never  _ to  _ him. Never like this. It felt like a dangerous word, like a weapon. 

“I’m going to give you some advice, Armitage, something I wish someone had told me when I was your age and saved me the trouble of learning it. It isn’t pleasant to hear, but it’s important, you understand? You’ll always be the worst thing about yourself - no - not the worst thing - the most pathetic, the most embarrassing. No matter what you do, no matter what you think you are - you’ll always be that ...little, shameful thing.”

He didn’t know what to say so he said “I’m sorry,” and backed away. He was close to the safety of the hallway now, of his bedroom beyond.

“Do you know what's at the center of the whole galaxy, Armitage?” She asked, her voice sing-song and light even though there was no levity in her eyes.

“Coruscant?” Armitage suggested, trying desperately to be right. 

She chuckled heartily, maybe even genuinely. “A black hole,” she said, “there’s a black hole at the center of the galaxy. Everything we are - everything that’s ever been built or said or written, is circling a great big heavy  _ nothing. _ And someday all of it - Coruscant and Arkanis and everything else is going to be sucked into it.”

Armitage didn’t know how to respond. He stood, small as he could make himself, under her faraway gaze. 

“I know you’re too young to understand any of this - you must think it’s all terribly unfair. But I know it’s not your fault Armitage, and it’s not mine either. We’ve all just been cast in our parts, haven’t we?”


	6. Chapter 6

The Base, Two Months Before

In the end it was not the presence of Poe Dameron that was the problem, but the absence of anything else - the emptiness that filled up the base and pressed in around their fire. Silence lurked in the darkness just out of sight. For a long time they tried sitting in it, Hux staring into the fire and Dameron pacing back and forth in front of it. It was maddening, having no sense of time, no light but the fire. 

At first, the silence invited dark thoughts into Hux’s mind - Kylo Ren and Pryde and and his sullied dignity and this whole blasted mystery. He felt as though he was one piece - one infuriating unknown away from solving it. And he had to solve it - ideally before the First Order arrived. If he returned to Pryde and Ren bearing evidence of a conspiracy, he might be able to redirect their anger from himself to the brigands. And of course he would also be bringing them Poe Dameron. 

He promised himself that he would emerge from this stronger than ever but truth be told he would even accept things returning to the way they had been. He would give anything for a hot shower and a shave, and most of all to be far away from here. It wasn’t the cold, or the ever-present pain in his leg and chest, or even the nagging unsolved mystery that unsettled him the most, it was the part of him which wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it ought to be.

But the dark thoughts eventually played themselves out and gave way to something else - boredom. Hux hadn’t been bored in a long time. He had always been busy or frantic or so exhausted his brain didn’t have the capacity for boredom. 

“What are you thinking?” Dameron’s voice was soft, but it cut through the silence like lightning striking.

“What?” Hux’s head jerked up abruptly, his eyes snapping into focus. The other man was standing on the other side of the fire, studying him, his expression inscrutable. 

“You look like you’re thinking about something. What is it? Have you figured anything else out about the mines - this plot?”

“No, I - I wasn’t thinking about that. Like I said before, I don’t know what else I  _ can _ figure out without more information.” 

“So what then - you running through top secret First Order plans? Evil schemes?” 

There was humor in his voice. He was bored too - or lonely or maddened by the silence - fishing for conversation. Normally, Hux would rather launch himself out an airlock than make casual conversation with Poe Dameron, now though, it was a welcome distraction.

“Oh yes,” he said with a wry smirk, “incredibly high level First Order secrets. If I told you more I’d have to kill you. I might have to kill you anyway, on the off chance you have the Force and read my mind.”

Dameron chuckled and squatted down. “So you do have a sense of humor, who’d’ve thought?”

He tossed the dregs of his caf out on the floor behind him and pulled over the bottle of moonshine. Hux was mildly horrified to note that they had finished nearly half the bottle the night before. 

“You want some?” He asked, pouring himself a generous cup full. 

“What time is it?” Hux cast a look around, reflexively searching for a window or a chrono to answer his question.

“Does it matter?”

He had a point. Hux shrugged, grimaced, and drank the last, grainy dregs of his caf, freeing the cup for the moonshine.

Dameron held up his cup in a mock toast and took a sip.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he mused, “about people always dying in the camp they’re born in.”

“You were?” Hux raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of moonshine. He had forgotten how awful it tasted, but he welcomed the warmth it brought as it seared its way down his throat.

“Yeah, I think it’s stupid. There’s always a choice. People change all the time, they aren’t just born to play one part.” 

“Says the rebel whose parents were rebels - the pilot whose mother was a pilot.” Hux kept his tone measured - biting back the urge to smirk, to slip in a little disdain with the word  _ rebel _ . He wasn’t interested in antagonizing Dameron or arguing with him, only in pushing back.

“Those were choices I made,” the other man insisted. His dark eyes reflected the fire and burned with flames all their own. “They’re choices I keep making every day that I keep fighting.”

“And I chose to fight for the First Order,” Hux returned, punctuating his sentence with a sip of moonshine, “and I believe in its mission, but I don’t harbor any delusions that I was ever going to be anything else.”

“What about Finn?”

“Finn?” Hux repeated the unfamiliar name.

“He was a stormtrooper - went through all your First Order brainwashing and torture since he was a kid - but he still chose to save me when I was your prisoner, to escape and fight for the Resistance. He didn’t let you people force him to play some part.”

“Ah yes, the traitor trooper who helped you escape,” Hux mused.  _ The man who killed Phasma _ , he added internally. “But traitors are the exception that proves the rule, Dameron. Treason wouldn’t be so remarkable, or so egregious if it wasn’t.”

“Finn might be an exception,” said Dameron, “but that’s just because he’s brave. Braver than you could ever be.”

“I never claimed to be brave,” Hux said cooly, looking across the fire at the other man, “just correct.” 

Dameron looked like he wanted to push further, to get angry, but he held himself back. There was no point arguing what they were already fighting a war to settle. Not now. He took a sip from his cup and shook his head.

“You know,” he said, “I know you’re way too smart to actually believe half the shit you say.” 

“And you’re far too experienced to believe half the sentiment you spew. And yet here we are.”

“Here we are.” A weary smile spread across his lips but didn’t reach his eyes. 

After a pause and a sip of moonshine to embolden himself Hux asked, “do you really think your friends are coming for you? Do the Resistance actually know where you went?” 

They had been over this before, but somehow Hux thought the answer might be different this time, might be something other than purely defensive.

Dameron looked down at the mug in his hands, his dark brows knitted together. “I hope not,” he said at last. “I left a message before I went and told them not to come after me. Told them I’d be back, and if I wasn’t, not to risk the Resistance on my account. I might be reckless, but I’m not that selfish.” 

“How noble,” Hux smirked,“sacrificing yourself to come here on my account.”

The other man scoffed and shook his head. “Oh come on, you know me. I’ve always got a plan. I’m not dying for you if I can help it.” 

“Of course.” He didn’t know Poe Dameron, not really, but he did know that much. The man always had a plan, and no matter how stupid or reckless it sounded it always seemed work out, at least for him. “You’ve always been infuriatingly lucky.” 

“Luck has nothing to do with it.”

Hux rolled his eyes. “Oh I’m sorry, is it the Force? Is the Force with you?”

“What? No,” Dameron scoffed, “I’m just that good.”

That was enough to get a soft chuckle out of Hux. For most of his life he didn’t even know people were allowed to be like this - easy and confident, dangerous without being ruthless or wantonly cruel. It made him uneasy - unsteady. In the end, he reminded himself, the Resistance would be crushed and Dameron would die, and the Galaxy would be better for it. Colder, but better. He took another sip of moonshine, wincing as it stung his chapped lips.

“What about you?” Dameron asked.

“What?”

“Are you really sure the First Order is coming to get you?”

“I’m sure they’re coming,” said Hux, his tone even, “though whether it's to save me or to finish me depends entirely on what I can make of this situation.”

“You mean whether or not you bring me to them.”

“Precisely.” 

“That’s rough,” Dameron shook his head and raised his cup to his lips. He swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes, studying Hux closely. “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m the only thing between you and being killed by your own side?”

The other man was clearly trying to get under his skin, not in the harsh, insulting way he had before, but in a careful, probing manner. Hux remained stoic.

“No,” he said, “it doesn’t bother me. I’m confident in my ability to bring you in, and to uncover whatever is going on here. And if I can't do that, then I accept my fate.” He reenforced the last sentence with a glare, daring Dameron to keep pushing.

But the other man was unphased. “Do you really believe that?”

Hux took a breath and another sip of his moonshine. “‘Survival is not a right. It is a privilege earned only by the strong.’ My father told me that.” Brendol’s words tasted more vile on his tongue than the drink.

“He sounds like a real piece of work.” The other man’s tone was innocuous, but his eyes brightened as Hux flashed another glimpse of his past - dropped a few more crumbs that might lead to something useful.

“He was,” said Hux, “but he was right. About that at least.”

“Like father like son, huh?” Dameron smirked and took a drink. 

Hux wanted to fight him for that, wanted to knock the cup from his hand and shout in his smug face -  _ You don’t know me! I am nothing like my father!  _ But he bit it back behind a scowl. There was nothing to be gained from fighting now. But he could turn this into something useful.

“I have a proposition for you, Dameron,” he said, taking another sip of moonshine and forcing his bitter frown into something like a smile.

“We have  _ not  _ had enough to drink for you to start propositioning me, Hugs,” the other man laughed heartily at his own joke. Perhaps it was the cold, or the fact that all they had eaten that day was the protein pack they had split, but just one cup of the moonshine seemed to have Dameron almost tipsy. “Ask me again after another cup of this, when I’m drunker and dumber and a little more stir crazy.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hux grimaced at the suggestion. “Just listen. You want to ask more about my past, fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know. But I get to do the same.”

That piqued Dameron’s interest. He sat up a little straighter and cocked his head to look at Hux sideways. “No military secrets though,” he cautioned, “past only.”

“Of course,” Hux inclined his head.

“Fine,” the other man paused, no doubt mulling over the best way to ask about the past in order to pry out some truth about the present. “What did your parents do?”

“My father was the commandant of the officer’s academy on Arkanis. He had ...unorthodox theories about how to raise young people to be perfect soldiers. Theories he first developed watching the way the Jedi trained their younglings during the Clone Wars, taking them almost as soon as they were born, raising them to fight. When the Empire fell, my father was one of the founding members of the First Order. He designed the new stormtrooper program, developed new recruitment methods.”

“Kidnapping,” Dameron muttered, “stealing children from vulnerable planets. Children like Finn.”

“Children who otherwise would have grown up poor and undisciplined, if they grew up at all,” said Hux cooly. 

When he had been handed the reins of the stormtrooper program after his father’s death, he had had his reservations. He didn’t question the ethics or doubt the efficacy of the program, but it had sat ill with him the first time he had given the order to take more children, to do what his father had done countless times before. In the end though, he had given the order. He had given so many orders since then he barely noticed the bitter aftertaste that some of them left in his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter what they would have been otherwise,” there was barely disguised disgust in Dameron’s voice, “it wasn’t your - or your father’s business. You robbed them of the choice - the chance to be anything else.”

“I don’t remember being given a choice,” Hux snapped. 

“Because your father took that from you too, that doesn’t make it right.”

“The New Republic took that from me, when they forced us to go into hiding in the Unknown Regions.” 

Dameron shook his head. “Fine,” he said, “sure. I’m not going to try and argue with all that brainwashing. You’re too far gone, I get that. So that’s your dad. What about your mom? What did she do?”

Hux looked down into the fire. It was burning lower now, but hotter, the flames flickering up between bright coals. When Dameron had joked about his mother over the comm before Crait, what felt like a lifetime ago now, he had been mortified, thinking somehow the Resistance pilot  _ knew _ . And if he knew that meant everyone else must too. His enemies, his comrades, they were all looking at him, looking through everything he had worked so hard to build, and seeing the kitchen girl’s son, the bastard boy, like Maratelle had when he was a child, like Pryde did now. It was only later, after the heat of battle that he reasoned that Dameron couldn’t have known. How could he have? He was simply making an immature joke, a jab in the dark to unsettle him. And it had worked, much to the General’s embarrassment. Now though, he was asking, and though Hux knew it was ridiculous, there was a part of him that was more afraid of letting this slip out than any military secret. 

“She was nobody,” he said at last. “I never knew her.”

“I’m sorry,” the other man said, softer than before. “Did she ...did she die?”

“No,” said Hux, his tone final.

The look in Dameron’s eyes when Hux looked up to meet them suggested he knew there was more to it, but he let it go. 

“Okay,” he said, “your turn. Shoot.”

Hux paused to consider his options, turning the cup around in his hands. It was nearly empty now. If he refilled it then he would be committing to drink until drunk. He scratched his chin and hated the rough feeling of the stubble which had started, insidiously, to grow there. What was becoming of him? That wasn’t a question worth asking now. What was he going to ask Dameron?

“When did you choose to join the Resistance? I’ve seen your service record with the New Republic navy. You could have gone far if you hadn’t been sidelined into General Organa’s schemes.”

“Yeah,” Dameron scoffed, “I could have gone far, and then I could’ve been blown up in the Hosnian System with the rest of them.”

Hux’s mouth tightened in acknowledgement.

“Still, it’s hilarious that you know so much about me. Do you do this much research on all your enemies or am I special?”

“It’s called being thorough, Dameron, knowing one’s enemy. I have files on every credible threat in the Resistance, you just happen to have left quite the paper trail. Now answer my question. I answered yours.”

“Fine,” the other man said, his lips still turned up in an infuriating smirk. 

This wasn’t a conversation, it was a game of cards and Dameron obviously thought he was winning, or at least bluffing better than his opponent. His confidence would be his downfall one day, Hux was sure, it would lose him the game in the long run. But for now it was simply irritating. 

“I liked the navy. Flying that X-Wing made me feel like myself - if there was one part I was born into, I guess it was that. I mean, my first real memories are of flying. My-” He paused a moment, looking at Hux and glancing away again. “My mom used to take me up in her A-Wing, later she taught me how to fly it myself. Maybe I was always going to be a pilot, no matter what. Maybe that part was never a choice.” His smirk had faded, and there was a faraway quality to his gaze. He sat with his legs crossed and his shoulders folded forward under the parka, shaddows pressing in behind him. 

“I liked the work too. I felt like I was helping people. It was mostly scaring off pirates, protecting trade routes, but it was something. At least that’s what I told myself. But I knew - I knew there were things out there worse than pirates. Real evil, that we should be hunting down and fighting.”

“The First Order.”

“Exactly. But we had orders from New Republic Command not to engage. ‘The First Order isn’t a threat’, they said, ‘they aren’t breaking any laws - not that we can prove.’ Bantha shit. I knew what they - what  _ you  _ really were.” 

There was anger in his voice now, frustration and resentment which had clearly been festering a long time - was festering still even long after whoever had given those orders was almost certainly killed with the rest of the New Republic. 

“Even when I had proof, when my squad encountered First Order TIEs attacking a free trader in the Mirrin sector, even after that skirmish killed one of my men, they still told me I wasn’t allowed to go after them. ‘If they attack again we’ll deal with it again’, they said. That’s when General Organa approached me. She offered me a role in her Resistance, the chance to fight real evil. Of course I took it.”

“How noble.” Hux shook his head, unable to stop the condescension that entered his voice. “But do you really believe that you had a choice?”

Dameron’s frown deepened. “Of course I had a choice. I could have said no. It would have been the easy choice to walk away, to keep busting pirates and pretending everything was fine.”

“Oh please!” Hux scoffed. “You could never have sat idly by when you thought there was evil at work in the galaxy. You were born to fight. War is in your blood, like it is in mine.”

“Don’t try and pull some ‘we’re the same’ shit. We’re not. I’m nothing like you. I didn’t want to fight, I would have loved to have a nice, peaceful life, but after I saw what the First Order was up to, I knew it was the right thing to do. I’ve seen things, and I’ve done things that are going to haunt me for the rest of my life, but I’ll never hide behind excuses like ‘war is in my blood’ or ‘we’re all born into a part.’ I can live with myself knowing that I did everything of my own free will, that I could have chosen not to. Can you say the same?” 

Even in the biting cold of the unheated control room, Hux felt Dameron’s gaze like a hot iron to the chest. It wasn’t anger in the other man’s eyes. Not exactly. 

He wanted to deny Dameron - to say  _ of course I can live with myself. Of course I can accept responsibility for all my actions because they were right and just _ . But for some reason he couldn’t bring forth those words. They got caught in his throat. No, he thought, better not to argue with Dameron on his own terms at all. 

“That’s all very impressive,” he waved his hand dismissively, “very heroic. If being good of heart won battles I’m sure you’d have the Order on the run by now.”

“Do you believe in  _ anything _ ?” The other man’s expression was almost sad, almost desperate. There was no mirth there - he wasn’t asking this as part of a game.

But Hux brushed him off once again. “I believe I’m tired,” he said, sitting down his empty cup, “and I’m ready to at least try to get some sleep.”

“You’re right,” Damron sighed and looked down at the dwindling fire. He seemed to struggle for a moment with his emotions but the battle was quickly won and his features smoothed into his usual cocky but disinterested manner. “I should get some shut-eye too. Putting up with you really takes it out of me.” He paused again, pressing his mouth closed as if he were figuring out how to say something. “You’re going to hate this - hell, I already hate it and it hasn’t happened yet - but that fire isn’t going to last much longer, and we can’t waste fuel keeping it going overnight.”

Hux had been through enough survival sims to know where this was going, and to know there was no point arguing. Dameron right. He grimaced and gave the grim nod of a man refusing a blindfold at his own execution.

They said absolutely nothing - didn’t even make eye contact - as preparations were made and they laid down back to back, Hux’s tattered greatcoat spread between them and the floor and the two parkas layered as blankets on top of them. Their last, heated discussion hung in the air, thick as the smoke from the fire which still hung in the room with nowhere to dissipate to. 

Even knowing the utility of it - even having agreed to it - Hux had to stop himself from bristling at every point of contact between their bodies, from jerking away or lashing out defensively. Never in his life had he been touched without some kind of malice or intent to harm, and try as he might to rationalize that this was different, that the pressure of Dameron’s back against his was not going to turn into a slap or a punch or a hand on his windpipe, he couldn’t seem to do it. He held himself perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe until the other man began to snore softly. The fire had burnt itself out a long time ago, and warm as it was under the parkas, the cold gnawed at his nose and cheeks. It was pitch black, and utterly silent, and despite the body pressed against his, and the steady rhythm of the other man’s breath, Hux was sure he had never felt so alone in his life. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I so appreciate all of you support and your comments!  
> Couldn't resist throwing in a cameo of millicent the cat (doll) after I drew her and his other toys here (https://queenphasma.tumblr.com/post/615889984375914496/little-armitage-and-his-toys-and-his-arkanis)  
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Arkanis, 30 Years Before

Armitage was ripped into consciousness by cold metal hands. He had been deep in sleep, fully under the covers and curled up, as he did every night, around a doll - a stuffed loth cat he called Millie. He had been dreaming of flying. Now Deedee was shaking him, prying the toy from his arms and pulling him upright even as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness of his bedroom.

“Wake up Armitage, you must wake up.” Despite its flatness, her tinny voice seemed to hold great urgency.

“What?” The boy mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s happening?”

Outside his room people were shouting.

“What do you mean?” It was Maratelle’s voice. “How dare you - Brendol - tell him I’m coming! Tell him you insist!”

“Ma’am please-” An unfamiliar man.

“No,” shouted Maratelle, “no! This is mad! Brendol, tell him this is mad!”

His father’s distinctive sigh. “I can’t do that, Mara. I’ll send for you as soon as there’s somewhere safe for you to join us. But -” 

“Somewhere safe? Somewhere - you’re leaving me here - the Rebels at our doorstep - how can I be  _ safe _ ? And you’re taking that - that kitchen slut’s son with you? You’re saving your bastard but not your wife? How dare you!”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Brendol, you can’t -” Her voice cracked. “Please, please don’t do this to me. Wasn’t I a good wife? Wasn’t I patient? And loyal? Didn’t I let you have everything you wanted - even  _ her  _ \- even  _ him? _ Doesn’t that count for something? __ Don’t choose him over me, you can’t - if you ever loved me you can’t -” 

“This is how it has to be, Mara, and I’m sorry.” But there was not a trace of sympathy or regret Brendol’s voice. “The Empire needs me, and it needs Armitage - it needs children. We must all make sacrifices. This is yours. Now stand down, or I will have you restrained.”

Deedee pushed a shirt and pants into Armitage’s arms and tossed a jacket onto the bed beside him. 

“Get dressed. Quickly now.” She said. She was taking more clothes out of his closet and stuffing them into a bag. 

Armitage complied, still groggy and bleary-eyed. “Are we going somewhere?” He asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

“A man has come to escort you and your father to a safe location offworld. We have to go soon, and you must be very good and very quiet and do everything Commandant Hux instructs.” She zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Now put on your shoes.”

Suddenly it dawned on him what was happening and with that knowledge came a fear which gripped his heart in an icy fist. He knew the Rebels had been attacking Arkanis - that they wanted to kill him and his father and all the other loyal citizens of the Empire. But everyone had told him that the Empire was going to win, that the Rebels would be defeated and Arkanis would be safe - he would be safe. If they were leaving that meant that they were running away. The Rebels were winning. They were going to destroy the only home he’d ever known.

“This plan of yours had better work, Swift.” His father’s voice. 

“It’ll work,” the unfamiliar man spoke again. “My ship is registered as a free trading vessel. As far as the New Republic is concerned I’m hauling a shipment of pickled fish to Issor. You and the kid will have to hide below decks ‘til we clear the blockade. Then we’re home free. But we should get a move on soon. We need to get from here to Scaparus Port on foot, and I want to be well clear of this house by sunrise.” 

“Deedee,” Brendol shouted from outside his room, “what are you doing in there? Where’s the boy? We have to go, now.”

Armitage felt like he was going to choke. Tears were stinging his eyes, blurring his vision. His shoes were on and tied but his feet were rooted to the ground.

“No,” he whimpered, “no, Deedee please I don’t want to go!”

“It is not a choice Armitage,” said the droid. “You heard your father. We have to leave.”

“Please-”

He shook his head frantically, casting his eyes around his bedroom as if he might find something to anchor him there. It was a small room, and plain. Nothing hung on the walls. The few possessions he had were put away neatly. There was nothing to really mark this place as his. But it was his. It was the only place that had ever been his. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t just be snatched away in the night. 

“Here.” Deedee held something out to him - Millie the loth cat doll. “Take this. I will hear no more complaints.”

He took the toy, and clutched it to his chest. It was still warm from being held all night and the dull orange fabric was worn to a threadbare softness. He squeezed it as hard as he could, until he felt anchored if only to this one small thing.

“Now, Armitage.” Deedee nudged him forward and this time his shaking legs stumbled forward and finally acquiesced to walk. 

His father was in the hall, a long black cloak over his uniform. He looked haggard, his face more pale and lined than usual. His eyes were bloodshot and glared out from deep, bruise-like shadows. When his gaze fell on Armitage it was flat and cold, as if he couldn’t quite summon the energy for real disdain. 

There was another man there too - a man Armitage was sure he had never seen before in his life. He was younger than Brendol, delicate features set in a vaguely irritated expression. He was dressed for combat, but not like any Imperial soldier Armitage had ever seen. At his belt, half-hidden by his cloak were two curved stun batons. 

“Armitage, this is Mercurial Swift,” his father gestured at the younger man. “He’s here to evacuate us.” 

Swift gave a tight smile and a nod. 

Armitage looked between the two men and then up at Deedee, his mouth open though there were no words which could possibly convey how he felt. He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t bear it. 

“Where are your manners Armitage?” Brendol demanded. “Thank the man. He’s saving our lives.”

But Armitage didn’t feel like he was being saved. He felt like the galaxy was collapsing around him. The boy’s mouth twisted, fighting to produce a sound that wasn’t a sob. “Th-thank you.” He managed at last, looking down at the doll in his arms.

“Buck up kid,” said Swift, “we’re gonna get out of here just fine. I’ve got a ship ready to go down in Scaparus Port. You ever been offworld?”

Armitage shook his head.

“I think you’ll like it. Now,” he said, glancing at Brendol, “is that everything? We need to get going, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

“Very well,” Brendol looked past his son to the droid behind him, “Deedee, take the bags. Armitage, with me.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him forward. “And stop crying.”

That last part was easier said than done. Even all his fear of his father couldn’t stop the tears now. He couldn’t even find his voice to apologize. He clutched Millie even tighter to his chest with one arm as Brendol dragged him by the other.

Maratelle was in the living room, lying despondent on the sofa. Brendol did not so much as take a parting glance at his wife. Indeed he ignored her resolutely, his mouth a hard, flat line. But Armitage looked back at her, just for a moment before they left the room behind forever and descended the stairs. Maratelle - bright, beautiful, cruel Maratelle looked deflated, white as her night dress. Her face was blotchy from tears she seemed to have given up on crying. But one part of her visage was clear as ever - her eyes. The look she gave Armitage was not anger, not even hate. It was pure, desolate, hopeless loathing. She didn’t say a word to him but he knew what that look meant.  _ You did this.  _

And then she was gone, lost forever as Brendol pulled his son down the stairs. They were walking quickly - faster than his short legs could manage, Mercurial Swift leading the way and Deedee bringing up the rear with the bags. He craned his neck behind him, trying to take everything in - the stone floor of the foyer, the beams arching across the ceiling, the long, richly patterned rug that ran the length of hall to the kitchen. He wanted to memorize it - to save it like a holo that he could keep in his brain and play whenever he was homesick. But there was no time. Panic ate the memories before he could save them.

They were already outside, Swift leading them off the main road and down a footpath through the trees. Armitage had been to Scaparus Port before, but never on foot - never this way. The night was pitch dark, the moons hidden behind bruise-colored clouds. It was pouring buckets and the path was little more than a mud slick, cutting through the underbrush. Still the pace did not slow, nor did his father’s grip on his wrist let up.

A million thoughts were flitting through his mind. What was going to happen to Maratelle and the other Imperials still on Arkanis? What would happen to his mother? Was she somewhere safe? Did she know that he was safe? Did she care? He would never get to meet her now, wou’d he? And why was it that he and his father got to escape? What if they couldn’t escape? What if the Rebels caught them? Would they torture him before they killed him? His father said they were brutes - that they wouldn’t hesitate to murder a child like him. He looked back again, straining to see the lights of the house through the branches. He had few happy memories of that place, but it was his home. It was the last home he would ever have.

Suddenly, Armitage’s legs slipped out from under him. He fell backwards, his wrist slipping free of his father’s grasp as the older man was thrown off balance and threw his arms out to steady himself. His head struck the muddy ground hard, sending stars across his field of vision and forcing a ragged cry from his lips. Millie had slipped free from his grasp. Where was she? He started feeling around in the mud around him, gasping at stones and twigs.

“Damn it, Armitage!” His father spat, wheeling round to face him and pulling him roughly back up. “Watch where you’re going! We don’t have time for this. Go on. Keep going.” This last bit directed at Swift.

He was already dragging Armitage forward again, his fingers digging into the boy’s bony wrist.

“Wait!” Armitage cried, struggling to get back to where he had fallen. “Wait please! Millie! I dropped Millie!”

His father glared down at him, confused. “Mill-what, the cat doll? Leave it, Armitage. It’s gone.”

“No!” He pulled and pulled against his father’s grip. “Please! I can’t leave her! I can’t!”

He looked desperately through the rain and the gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of orange fabric in the mud. He had left everything - he couldn’t leave this too - not this one piece of home- this last soft thing. 

“Can you shut the kid up?” Swift said urgently, his own voice barely audible above the rain, “the point is to get out of here quietly.”

“No!” He was bawling now. “Deedee, please” he shouted back at the droid. She had given him the doll to take with him, surely she would help him hold onto it. But she didn’t stop her slow progress behind them. In the end she was Brendol’s droid first. She had her orders and helping Armitage was not part of them.

He was so focused on looking for the doll that he didn’t see his father’s hand coming until it struck him across the face, knuckles first.

“Be quiet you idiot boy!” He hissed through clenched teeth. “You’ll wake half the planet. Do you want to be caught?”

“No!” Armitage wailed, raising his free hand to cradle his now stinging cheek. “No!”

“Do you understand what will happen to us if they catch us?”

“I -”

“They will slaughter us like animals. It won’t matter that you’re only a child. They will throw you in jail and torture you - they’ll ask you for secrets about the Empire - secrets you won’t know. And when they find out you don’t know, they’ll kill you. Maybe they’ll shoot you, maybe they’ll launch you out the airlock, maybe one of their Jedi will cut you to pieces with their lightsaber. Do you understand that? Is that what you want?”

“No! No I-” it was difficult to form words around the sobs bubbling forth from his throat.

“No what, Armitage?”

He shook his head.

___

The Base, Two Months Before

“ _ No” _

“Hux - hey - wake up.”

“No!”

It was his own voice which finally woke him. His eyes snapped open, only for the darkness to press against them like a blindfold. There were arms wrapped around him, hands pinning his hands to his chest. He could feel the heat of another body pressed against his own. His first instinct was to wriggle free - to throw his head back into Dameron’s nose or kick out into his groin. But something stayed him. Something which dreaded being let go almost as much as he dreaded being touched.

“Hux - hey, I’ve got you - are you okay?” The other man’s breath was warm on the back of Hux’s neck. He was panting, as if taxed by the effort of holding Hux down.

“Dameron,” he hissed, “what the fuck are you doing?” His heart was pounding at hyperspeed, so hard he was sure the other man could feel it too.

Dameron’s grip on his hands loosened and then drew back, almost sheepishly. “Self defence,” he said. “Whatever you were dreaming about, you were pretty upset. Thrashed around a bunch. Nearly punched me in the face.” 

Hux felt the other man roll over to lie on his back. The sudden absence of his heat felt cruelly cold.

“You talk in your sleep you know. Who’s Millie? A girlfriend?”

Even through his extreme embarrassment, Hux couldn’t help but huff out a half-chuckle at the absurdity of that. 

“No. Stars, no. Nothing like that. Not that it’s any of your business.”

A low laugh. “Yeah, you never seemed like the girlfriend type.”

Hux’s heart rate was beginning to return to normal. “Exactly what ‘type’ do I seem like then, Dameron?” 

“I don’t know,” the other man said, “bitter?”

He scowled at the ceiling. 

“So who is she - Millie?” 

“No one, really. Or nothing, rather. Something long gone.”

“Cryptic,” Dameron hummed. 

Cryptic or not the answer must have satisfied him for he let the subject drop. He kept quiet as he rose and set about making a fire, igniting the holomap Hux had found downstairs and using its dull blue glow as a lightsource. Much to the general’s chagrin, Dameron built a much heartier fire than the one he had kindled the day before. 

Once the blaze was going, Hux put on the water to boil. He had a pounding headache that only caf could remedy. Maybe it was the moonshine he had drunk the night before, or maybe it was the last trace of that dream. 

_ That dream… _ What long-neglected corner of his brain had that memory crawled out of? And why now? It must be the stress of this whole situation, the crushing powerlessness of it. Whatever it was it spoke to some insidious weakness - some crack he would have to mend. If there was one thing Kylo Ren had ever been right about, it was the necessity of killing one’s past. Hux thought he had done it, thought he had left that weak-willed boy in the mud, just as he had Millie. But that didn’t stop his ghost from haunting him. He’d have to kill that too somehow.

Despite looking utterly exhausted, Dameron declined a cup of caf and Hux was more than happy not to share. He cradled the mug in his hands, letting the warmth spread to his fingers. At some point he had stopped registering the cold. There was only numbness and occasional warmth. 

“Hungry?” Dameron asked, tossing a protein pack without waiting for an answer.

“A whole one?” Hux asked, raising his eyebrows as the other man tore open a second pack for himself. There were only three more packs in the pile Dameron had salvaged from the kitchen. “They said this storm could last a week. Shouldn’t we be rationing these?”

The other man shrugged. “I think we can treat ourselves just this once. Besides, you need it. You’re too thin. You have no idea how miserable it is to sleep next to you. You’re all ...elbows and ribs. And that was before you started thrashing around. What were you dreaming about anyway? Hand-to-hand combat? Who were you fighting?”

Hux pursed his lips. He was too tired to play off Dameron's banter. His head was still pounding and his face still burned with the shame of waking up in the other man’s arms.

“It’s selfish,” he said, breaking his own gelatinous cube in half and setting one piece aside, “and foolish, eating the whole thing. But I suppose I should expect that from you.”

“Oh you’re extra prickly today, aren’t you Hugs?”

“You want to know what I was dreaming about?” Hux spat, pushed over the edge by the condescending nickname. “I was dreaming about the night when I was five years old and I was ripped away from my home, forced to go into exile to hide from the New Republic. The last time I had a home on a planet, with a sun, with food that wasn’t -” he lifted the half protein block with a grimace. “Forgive me if I don’t have the patience to listen to your petty insults.”

Dameron rolled his eyes. “Here we go again,” he said, “the kriffing pity party.”

“Excuse me?” Hux sat the food down and glared at the other man, wild-eyed. If he only had a blaster - if he’d only kept Dameron’s knife.

“‘Oh woe is me, my childhood was shitty, daddy didn’t love me! Now I have no choice but to blow up star systems to make myself feel better.’ I’m sick of it.”

“How dare you,” snarled Hux, “you don’t know the first thing about me!”

“I know you’re a coward. I know you hide behind all these sad excuses, and stupid ideas about being born into parts, because you can’t face the fact that you’re a monster.”

“I know what I am!” He was shouting now. “Do you? At least when I kill I do it intentionally. You - with all your stupid, arrogant stunts, you’ve done almost as much damage to the Resistance as I have. I should welcome you into the First Order and give you a medal for your service. Have you ever bothered to tally it up? The number of people on your own side you’ve gotten killed?” 

“Shut your mouth!”

But Hux wasn’t done. His lip curled in a sneer. “I can’t help but wonder why your precious princess-general keeps you around through all this. Perhaps she cares more about some deluded idea of heroics than she does about winning this war. Perhaps old age is finally getting to her. Or, I suppose, given what her son is like - she must have a soft spot for selfish, irrational fools. But you must know she’ll never actually be your mother - you’ll only ever be a poor substitute for  _ him _ .”

“Don’t you dare talk about General Organa like that you snide little rat!” 

Whatever tenuous truce had existed between them was broken now. Dameron knew it too. The fire caught, bright and savage in his eyes as he lunged forward, knocking over Hux’s caf into the makeshift hearth, making the flames hiss and flicker wildly.

Hux threw his arms up defensively in front of his face, only for Dameron to push them back, knocking him down and pinning him there by his wrists as he straddled his waist. The hand that wasn’t holding Hux’s arms was raised above him, balled into a fist, aching to strike him.

Even as his heart pounded in his ears and his chest rose and fell rapidly, Hux kept his face composed. He met Dameron’s dark eyes with a steady glare.

“Do it,” he said. “Whatever you’re going to do, I’m sure I’ve had worse.”

But the other man didn’t move. His square jaw was set, his mouth hard, but his eyes betrayed him. Beneath his furrowed brow they flashed with anger and then remorse and then something else.

Hux leaned forward as much as he could in this ungainly position, and tilted his chin up to stare directly at the other man.

“What are you waiting for? Don’t go soft on me now, Dameron. I know you want to - so do it. Hit me.”

Dameron’s lips parted and tensed as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t seem able to find his voice. His fist stayed where it was but he leaned forward, slowly, haltingly, eyes still locked on the other man’s face.

Hux froze, breath catching on the intent in the air -  _ intent to do what? _

They were so close now he could feel the heat radiating from Dameron’s face. The silence was palpable.

_ The silence - _

“Wait,” said Hux, eyes suddenly snapping away from the other man to look up at the shadowy ceiling. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Dameron let go of his wrists and sat back, so quickly he almost lost his balance and toppled into the fire. “No - no, I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. There’s nothing. No wind.”

The Resistance Pilot’s face lit up in sudden understanding. “The storm-”

“It’s stopped.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another really late update! I hope it's worth the wait!!

_ The Absolution _ , Twelve Years Before

“Alright Armitage, try again.” Phasma’s stance was low, her feet rooted to the slightly bouncy floor of the training room. Her arms were up in front of her, ready for his move. 

She was as tall as he was, and a good deal stronger. Her tight black shirt was pushed up to the elbows to reveal toned forearms and her blonde hair was cropped even shorter than his, leaving visible every hard angle of her face. She was about Armitage’s own age, but something in her face made her seem decidedly older. Perhaps it was the lines worn into her skin by harsh conditions and high levels of radiation on her homeplanet, or perhaps it was something in her expression or the way she held herself - something that betrayed experience far beyond her years.

Hux had been skeptical when his father brought Phasma aboard a few weeks back, and even more so when she offered to spar with him. He wasn’t interested in another Captain Cardinal, another competitor for what little respect his father doled out. But Phasma was different. She wasn't a cloying showoff like Cardinal, who, when Hux had sparred with him as a child, had been eager to deal out gratuitous blows or give criticism laced heavily with disdain - anything to make him feel small and weak and insufficient. Phasma, on the other hand, was straightforward and confident. She spoke little, but when she did it was civil. 

Her hand-to-hand fighting style was unlike anything he had encountered before - at once savage and totally controlled. After years of training, he knew Stormtrooper tactics like the back of his hand. He even managed to best Cardinal every once in a while, and even when he lost he was able to hold his own for a time. Phasma threw him to the ground in a matter of seconds, holding him down with a forearm across his throat.

“You don’t fight like a stormtrooper,” he said dumbly, panting against her arm.

“What does that mean?” She asked, getting off him and re-positioning herself into a fighting stance.

“You don’t fight like Captain Cardinal.” He picked himself up, readying himself to go agan.

“I wasn’t trained by Captain Cardinal. I suspect that’s why Brendol Hux is interested in me.”

Armitage inclined his head. “And do you want that?” He asked. “For my father to be interested in you?”

“It’s served me well so far.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, and held no obvious gratitude or loyalty to the elder Hux.

The second round lasted a little longer. This time, Hux approached it with all the careful cunning needed to face a truly unfamiliar enemy. He assumed nothing, expected nothing. He landed a hit, striking Phasma lightly but sharply in the gut and forcing her to take a few steps back. 

“Very good.” She said, her ice blue eyes narrowing. “You adapt quickly.”

His mouth twitched up at the corners. He moved in again, but Phasma feinted back, drawing him forward only to knock his legs out from under him with a kick.

He met the floor on his hands and knees, but didn’t stay down for long.

“Did your father teach you to fight?” The woman asked, circling him.

Armitage scoffed. “Not personally. I’m sure you saw - physical fighting is not his forte. But he did design most of the Order’s training sims.”

She directed a punch at his chest and he caught her wrist and forced it down, nearly bringing her to her knees.

“Besides he would never waste his time on me,” he said breathlessly, “he thinks I’m weak.”

Suddenly Phasma grabbed his arm with her other hand and before he could process what was happening he was airborne. She had thrown him over her back, breaking his grip and slamming him into the spongy flooring hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

“Why does he think you’re weak? You’re stronger than he is, and - from what I’ve seen - a better fighter. Not that that’s saying much.” She added that last quip with a slight smirk and crossed her arms over her broad chest.

All Armitage could do was wheeze out a chuckle. If Phasma was trying to flatter him, it wasn’t obvious in her tone. There was something refreshing in her direct, unrefined way of speaking, her lack of regard for politics. Perhaps she was one person who would not be turned against him.

“Are you next in line after him?” She asked, looking down at him cooly.

“What ...do you mean?” He panted.

“If something happens to Brendol Hux, do you inherit his power?”

Armitage scoffed at that. “No, no it doesn’t work like that. Rank is earned, in the First Order, it’s not inherited. I’m only a captain. If my father dies, I’ll still be a captain. One day, when I’ve proven myself enough, served the Order well enough - when I get promoted a few more times - then I can rival him. Then, maybe I would be in a position to take his place. But it wouldn’t be because I’m his son. If anything, that might hold me back.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, sitting up and stretching his arms behind his back. He hated to talk about it, but he would rather Phasma hear it from him than his detractors. “You’ll hear it soon enough. From Cardinal or someone else. My father - and plenty of his cronies in Command - they don’t respect me. They see me only as I was as a child. Small, weak, a bastard.”

“Bastard?” Phasma cocked her head and frowned deeper, repeating the word as if it were totally unfamiliar to her.

“My mother wasn’t my father’s wife. She wasn’t anyone at all - a kitchen worker, not the ...class of person they respect.”

“I see,” she nodded. “You said in the First Order rank is earned, not inherited, but their disrespect for you is based on something you inherited, not something you earned.”

“You have a point,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not right. Someday, when I do have power, real power, I’ll change it. Break those old Imperials’ stranglehold on the Order. That’s the only way we’ll ever reach our full potential.”

“A noble goal.” 

Phasma reached down, offering a hand to help Hux up. He grasped it, letting her take his weight. And then he was flying again. She had lifted him, only to throw him down, this time on his front. The impact forced a surprised yelp from his lips.

He winced as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, his eyes taking a moment to come back into focus as he squinted up at Phasma.

She was walking towards the door of the training room, wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. She looked back just as the door hissed open, wearing something almost like a smile.

“I’ll look forward to training with you again,” she said, “and hearing more of your ideas.”

As she left the room, Hux stared after her, breathing heavily through his mouth. He wasn’t sure what had just happened - it felt as if he had just made some sort of pact, formed an alliance, though to what end, and against what he wasn’t yet sure. Still, it was a strange feeling - one he couldn’t entirely separate from the headrush of being slammed to the ground twice. For the first time in a very long time, he saw a spark in the future, a glimmering, dazzling opportunity. For the first time in a very long time, he did not feel entirely alone against the galaxy. He had no point of comparison to know if this was a budding friendship, but he thought - he hoped - it might be. 

  
  


___

The Base, Two Months Before

“The storm -”

“It’s stopped.”

Dameron sprang to his feet, fastening his parka over his flight suit. His jaw was set determinately square.

“Okay,” he said, “put your coat on, we’re getting out of here.”

Hux picked himself up off the ground, coming to a seated position. He met the other man’s fiery expression with a cold sneer. “ _ We _ ? What makes you think I’d agree to go anywhere with you?”

Dameron sighed. “I’m not asking you, Hux, I’m telling you. I’m not waiting around here for the First Order, or the people who captured us in the first place, or any of that, and neither are you. I told Beebee-ate to wait with the ship. We’re going to get back there, and then I’m going to deliver you to the Resistance like I set out to do. I could force you - I’m stronger than you and I’ve still got a knife - but I figured we could skip that step.”

Infuriating as it was, he was right. And it only added insult to injury when he offered his hand to help Hux up. He rejected it, grimacing as he rose on his own, putting weight on the still sore leg. This could yet work to his advantage - if Dameron’s ship really was waiting for him, Hux might be able to find an opportunity to overpower him and hijack the X-Wing. If he played his cards right, everything could go back to normal soon. Thank goodness. Still - something he couldn’t name sat heavy in his chest as he walked away from hearth where they had spent the last three days. Dameron was holding out the holomap, using it as a lightsource to navigate into the dark. 

Once again they had to drop down the access-hatch to the lower level. Like last time, Dameron went first, but this time his drop was followed by an audible exclamation.

“What?” Hux called down. “What is it?” He could only see the faint blue glow of the holomap below.

“Just come down,” called Dameron, “it’s fine.”

Hux gingerly lowered himself down, letting out a gasp of his own as his feet crunched into a thin layer of snow. He stumbled a moment, almost completely blind in the dark passageway. Dameron steadied him with a hand on his shoulder - withdrawn as soon as it was clear the other man had found his footing.

“The energy shield must have gone down with the power.” Hux said, squinting at what little he could see of the passageway. 

“Blast. We’ll have to dig the speeder out of the landing bay.”

“Yes,” Hux said cooly, “you will.”

“Bastard.” Dameron cracked a weary smile as he started down the hall.

The Resistance pilot studied the map as he went, tracing gloved fingers along the wall to guide him and compensate for his split attention. Every door they passed stood open, and it was clear that the wind blowing in from outside had driven snow into every corner and crevice. 

“Looks like the clearing where I left the ship is about twenty klicks south,” he said, nodding toward a point on the map near one of the tangles of tunnels. “Funny, I didn’t see any sign of those tunnels from above.”

“Well,” Hux reasoned, “the map is old. If the tunnels have been abandoned and storms like these are commonplace here, I expect they’re long buried. Or, if they’re still occupied they’re locked down against the weather - or something else.”

“Something else?”

“We still don’t know why we were brought here - what powers are at play, what could be waiting for us out there. We could be walking straight into a rathtar’s nest. Not to mention, we don’t even really know if the storm is finished, it might just be letting up for the time being.”

Dameron nodded, looking up from the map to focus on their path. There was a light up ahead, thinning the pitch darkness to a murky gloom.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said at last.

“Of course you are.”

They had to ascend a small hill of snow to get into the landing bay - or more accurately they had to wade through it. The snow came up to Hux’s mid-thigh, instantly soaking through his trousers. Before, he thought he’d become accustomed to the cold, but now his legs burned with it. Dameron’s insulated flight suit seemed to be offering him a little more protection but he still muttered quiet curses as he pushed on.

Outside, the winds had quieted, letting the snow settle on the jagged, unnatural looking remains of fallen trees. If his father were alive to see this, he would turn it into some kind of metaphor - only the strongest trees in the forest survived the storm. The weak were uprooted, their rotting carcases returning their nutrients to the soil - far more useful to the growth of the forest in death than they were in life.  _ “And what kind of tree are you, Armitage? _ ” He would ask, but his voice would imply that he already knew the answer.

The speeder was buried up to the handles. With a sigh, Hux began to scoop away the snow with his hands. His leather gloves protected him a little, but it was not long before snow began to slip in around the tops. 

“I thought digging out the speeder was my job.” Dameron said with a smirk. 

“As much as I’d rather not aid in my own capture, I do prefer it slightly to losing my toes to frostbite.” Hux hefted an armful of snow aside.

“Fair enough.”

Even working together, it took a long time to free the buried speeder. By the time they had, Hux was more than happy to sit down on it and rest his weary limbs, even if it meant being taken to Dameron’s X-Wing and captured, even if it meant holding on to the other man’s waist as they drove. At least the activity had warmed him up a bit, though the sweat he had broken was already becoming ice water on his face.

They coasted just above the snow, throwing up a wake of fine white flakes as they went. Dameron was indeed a very good pilot. He navigated the maze of felled trees with ease, periodically checking the holomap. 

Above them, the sky was low and still an ominous grey-white and all along their route were more reminders of the destruction the storm had wrought. As the forest grew denser, the snow-covering on the ground grew thinner, and the frozen carcases of animals were left plainly visible. 

After a while, the icy wind on his face started to become unbearable. He could practically feel new cracks forming in his chapped lips. His eyes and nose were streaming and the liquid freezing on his face. At least Dameron couldn’t see his face. That would be the second most mortifying thing to happen to him all day - after - whatever that was by the fire. 

He hadn’t been scared when he thought Dameron was going to punch him. Violence was something he understood. The vast majority of his interactions with others - at least the ones that weren’t formal or official - were violent, usually at his expense. Even sex, on the rare occasions that he had time for it, was violent and transactional and left him much the worse for wear. That was how he liked it - or at least it was the only way he knew how to like it. In all his life he had never known closeness of any kind without violence or the threat of it, from his first memories of his father to the last time he’d seen Kylo Ren. Even with Phasma, who was the closest thing he had to a friend, it took months before they could talk outside of the training room, without the buffer of punches and kicks. If Dameron had simply punched him in the face, he would have understood. He would have earned it the way he had spoken to the other man. He would have hit him back too. 

But what had happened instead shook him to the core. As quickly as anger had flared up, it became a different kind of passion - something he’d never felt. And the way Dameron had paused - the way their faces had been so close - if it hadn’t been for the storm falling quiet, what would have happened? It must have been some kind of manipulation tactic the Resistance pilot was using on him. Insults had failed to do the trick so he had moved on to - whatever that was. That explained why the other man seemed so resolutely unphased by the whole experience, and why Hux couldn’t show any sign of the turmoil raging in his gut.

As if sensing his discomfort, the other man called back: “How’re you holding up back there Hugs?” 

“I’ve been better.” Hux shouted back over the wind. “And I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“What - Hugs? Lighten up. It’s a fun nickname. Would you rather I call you ‘filthy First Order scum?’”

“Yes, actually.” Hux said dryly.

“What do your friends call you, anyway? Do you make them call you ‘General Hux’? Is that what you make people call you in the sack too?”

If he lived a hundred years, Hux was sure he would never meet another person as infuriating as Poe Dameron. “Well they certainly don’t call me ‘Hugs’.”

“Do you even have a first name?”

“Everyone has a first name.”

“Okay, then what is it?”

“Armitage.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “It’s Armitage.”

“Armitage?” Dameron cackled. “Really?”

Even cold as he was, Hux felt a hot flush in his cheeks. “You know, this might shock you but I didn’t  _ choose  _ my name.” 

“I know but - Woah,” Dameron gasped, pulling the speeder to a sudden stop.

Hux didn’t realize he hadn’t been looking ahead until his eyes snapped forward and he saw what made Dameron stop. A large tree had fallen across their path, and not just any tree - a tree which had brought down the wreckage of a ship - a crashed First Order escape pod, still tangled in the branches. He hadn’t realized how close they were to the crash site.

“Wait,” Dameron said, disembarking with a grunt, “I want to look around before we go.”

“Fine.” Hux didn’t like the idea of the other man snooping around the First Order’s property, even if it was wrecked, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He heaved himself off the speeder as well. His legs had gone numb, but the moment he put weight on them they shot searing spikes of pain through his body. If he didn’t get somewhere warm, and soon, frostbite would be a real concern.

Dameron was poking around the wreckage of the ship, as if he hoped to find some useful First Order data there. Of course any of the tech in the escape pod was beyond ruined now. All he would find in there was Lieutenant Rheese’s corpse - which Hux didn’t want to think about. He ran his fingers over a piece of metal which had come off and become half-buried in the ground a few feet away. It looked like a piece of the wing. Beside it was a familiar object, its dark form standing out against the thin layer of snow. His blaster. He remembered vaguely, what felt like a lifetime ago, taking it from Dameron and throwing it aside. 

Hux glanced up at the other man who still had his back to him, searching the wreckage. He picked up the weapon and slid it into the pocket of his parka. If it came to it - when they reached Dameron’s X-Wing or before - he would be ready to defend himself.

Then he heard the noise. No, that wasn’t quite true. He had been hearing it for some time, just soft enough to escape his direct attention. Now though, it was rising to a low howl, and the wind was beginning to pick up. A horrid thought had been gnawing at the back of his mind for some time, and as he looked up at the shape of the clouds above them.

“Dameron!” He shouted. “We need to go, now. The storm didn’t pass - we were in the eye.”

The other man looked up, horror spreading across his face as he realized Hux was right.

“Get back on the speeder! My ship’s close. We can be out of here before the worst of it hits.”

Hux obeyed without hesitation.

“How did we miss that?” Dameron shouted as the speeder tore through the trees. “How the fuck did we wiss that?”

“The storm is massive - the eye must be as well. Besides, it’s easy to miss what one isn’t looking for. You  _ insisted _ that we go, even though as I recall, I told you-”

“Kriff, Hux, can you shut the fuck up? If I have to hear you say ‘I told you so’ I swear I’ll crash this thing and kill us both.”

Hux fell silent and gripped Dameron’s waist tighter as they made a sharp turn around a tree and came to a skidding halt in the clearing. The clearing which was completely empty.

“No -” Dameron breathed, launching himself off the speeder and running to the center of the clearing. “No. No! It can’t be gone. Beebee-ate? Beebee-ate!” He was shouting now, calling into the woods as if his droid might be waiting just beyond the treeline.

Hux slid off the speeder as well and gingerly approached the other man. “Are you sure it’s the right clearing? Let me see the map I-”

“Of course it’s the right clearing, Hux. Don’t you think I’d remember where I left my ship? Kriff! Fuck! He must’ve thought - when I didn’t come back and he couldn’t contact me - he must’ve thought I was dead. We are dead.” He looked up at the gathering clouds, the wind whipping his dark hair back from his face. “We’re dead. We’ll never make it back to the base in time.”

“No.” Hux insisted, swallowing his own fear. “No. We aren’t dead. Give me the map.”

“I told you, this is the right clearing.” Dameron snapped at him. “You aren’t helping.”

“The tunnels, idiot,” Hux snarled, “I want to find the nearest tunnel entrance. We can take shelter there. We can still survive this, but only if you pull yourself together.” 

The other man’s face loosened slightly. “Oh,” he said, “right. Yeah, that’s actually a really good idea.”

He fumbled in his pocket for the holomap and switched it on. Hux leaned in, studying the tangled mess of tunnels. It was hard to discern where the entrance was with all the loops and paths and dead-ends, like one of the maze puzzles he had done to entertain himself as a child. Flakes of snow were falling again, spotting Dameron’s dark hair with white and sticking, infuriatingly, in Hux’s lashes. At last he found what he was looking for - an entrance, not more than fifty yards into the woods. 

“RIght then, let’s go.” He set off on foot, Dameron catching up with him in a few long strides.

“I just hope Beebee-ate made it out of here okay.” Dameron said as they went. “I never should’ve dragged him into this. It wasn’t right of me to ask him to wait for me like that.” 

He sounded genuinely distressed and Hux didn’t know how to respond so he said nothing at all. Even in the short time it took to reach where the map showed the tunnel entrance, the sky had darkened significantly, and the air was full of the creaking of the trees. But there it was - salvation - a low mound, its surface dusted with snow, at its front a sealed metal door. 

Hux rushed forward, ignoring the protests of his leg, searching for an access panel, a doorbell, something which could be used to open the door or signal to whoever might be inside. Nothing. The surface of the door was rusted and weathered but otherwise totally smooth. 

Now it was his turn to panic. He pounded on the door, in turns demanding and pleading to be let in as Dameron slowly came up behind him.

“It’s sealed,” Hux hissed through his teeth. “Of course it’s sealed, why wouldn’t it be? Stupid.” 

He looked back, past Dameron toward the empty clearing. 

“I might be able to rig an explosive out of the parts from the speeder,” he thought aloud, “but we don’t have the time, or the tools, do we?”

“No.” Dameron’s voice was low and soft. He sounded resigned, as if watching Hux’s panic had soothed his own. 

He sat down against the door, and sighed heavily. 

“I think this is it, Hugs.”

Hux shot him a dirty look as he turned around to join Dameron in leaning against the door. His legs - still soaked with ice water, were burning with the cold. 

“I told you I hate that name. I refuse to let it be the last thing anyone calls me.”

“I’m sure you’ve been called worse.”

Hux shrugged and nodded, watching the steam of his breath disappear into the gathering whiteness of the blizzard. The low mound of the blocked entrance provided a little shelter from the wind, but not much. 

“Armitage,” this time when Dameron said his name there was no mocking lilt in his voice. He simply said it, softly, a little roughly, and to Hux’s surprise, he didn’t hate the sound of it. Phasma and Sloane were the only people who had ever called him by first name without malice. Now that they were both gone, the sound of his name spoken softly was almost alien.

“Poe.” He felt like he should return the favor, though it felt unnatural to do so. But if it was the end - and it did seem to be the end - he might as well. He looked over, squinting through the snow. The other man’s lips were blue, his tan skin ashen. 

“You know, this whole time I’ve been hating myself for not … I don’t know, for not hating you more. I mean, I do hate you. The idea of you. You’re a kriffing monster -”

“Wonderful last words, Dameron, thank you.”

“No, shut up. Listen. I wanted to hate you more - and it's not like you’re an easy person to get along with - and I know that but I still…” He trailed off.

“Still what?”

He shook his head. “I’m probably delirious from the cold,” he said, “If we weren’t about to die, I’d never be able to live with myself.”

“What?”

“But we are about to die,” he said. 

Maybe he was delirious. How long had they been outside now? 

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it.”

“So fuck it.”

And with that, Dameron leaned over, wrapping an arm around Hux’s waist to pull him closer, and kissed him. It was shock that parted Hux’s lips, but it was another instinct altogether which kept them open - which let the other man’s tongue in, and let him lean into it, eyes falling closed, a hand rising to the Resistance pilot’s neck, feeling the muscles of his throat work. Dameron’s kiss was passionate, urgent, a sudden unleashing of long-pent-up energy, but it was also shockingly gentle. 

Cold and numb and chapped as his face was, he still felt the buzz of blood rushing to his cheeks, the pleasant scratch of the other man’s overgrown stubble. He leaned against Dameron’s body, their combined warmth a small salvation in the cold. He had been kissed before - but it was always all teeth and rough hands tangled in hair. Never gentle. Never like this. If they weren’t about to die, this would be treason against the Order - against himself. If they weren’t about to die, he would be overwhelmed with self-loathing and discomfort and the strangeness of this kind of touch. But they were. And there were worse ways to go.

And then they were falling - the door sliding down behind them, sending them toppling to the ground before either could react to catch themselves. Dameron was on his back and Hux was above him. Between the fall and the sudden rush of warm air, both men were momentarily stunned, still locked in an increasingly awkward embrace.

“Gentlemen,” a light, musical voice issued from somewhere ahead “how fortunate that you are still alive! We came just as soon as we could!”

This voice was joined by the unmistakable chirping of a very excited - if slightly confused - droid.

Dameron groaned, his mouth still close enough for Hux to feel the sound against his own lips. “Oh kriff.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another late update and thank you all for bearing with me! Fair warning, this chapter contains some more graphic child abuse so you know, proceed with caution

The Unknown Regions, 25 Years Before

It was 02:00 when Armitage finally set down his stylus and left the archives. He had been there for hours, pouring over old treatises on engineering, and sketching plans and ideas on his datapad. He worked until his eyelids were prohibitively heavy and his hand cramped from gripping the stylus. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing, not since he’d glanced at the chrono at 22:00 and noted that he had officially stayed out past curfew. He noted the time, made up his mind to accept the consequences and went back to his studies. 

Reading was one of the few pleasures he had. He found an order in circuit diagrams and ship blueprints that was sorely lacking from his real life. The little sketches and notes he made weren’t much, he knew, but he was getting better all the time, and it brought a little comfort to get lost in the fantasy that one day he could be an engineer for real - design planet-killing weapons and ships that cut through space like knives and struck fear into the hearts of all who saw them. No one could make him feel small then - no one would dare hurt him and everyone who already had would pay. 

He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. He’d be absolutely useless in his classes tomorrow if he didn’t get at least a few hours of sleep. Wearily, he gathered his things and shut off the computer he’d been working at. The doorwatch droid followed him with its photoreceptors as he finally slunk out of the archives, datapad and stylus tucked under his arm. Normally he wouldn’t dare stay out past curfew, but his father had had a meeting offship with High Command. Those meetings always ran long and Brendol always stayed afterwards to drink with his friends. If he came back this cycle at all it would be very late - or very early, rather. Armitage reckoned he had time to slip back into his room and go to bed long before the elder Hux returned. 

He passed a few troopers in the hall. Most ignored him, a few nodded. 

“Still up, Cadet?” One asked, his voice light and jovial even through the helmet. 

“I was studying,” said Armitage, voice as innocent as he could make it, “I didn’t see the time.”

“Alright, get to bed. General Hux wouldn’t want you running around in the middle of the night.” 

“Yes sir.”

They wouldn’t tattle on him to his father. It wasn’t worth the trouble. 

He was nearly back - home free - when a familiar figure, dressed in the white of a stormtrooper cadet’s uniform stepped out of the shadows.

“What are you doing up?” CD-0922 asked, a cruel, triumphant gleam in his dark eyes.

CD-0922 had hated Armitage almost as soon as they had met on Jakku. He had been called Archex then and was just a few years older than Armitage but already strong and hard and sharp as a mono-molecular-edged blade. Armitage had been terrified of Archex and the rest of the orphans Rax and his father were training. People kept telling him to be brave, but it was hard to be brave when he was watching whole star destroyers crash into the sand in flames - when everyone kept calling this a  _ “last stand _ ” as if there wasn’t going to be anything after it. Archex seemed to be able to sense his fear. Officially, he had to obey Armitage - Rax had said so - but he always did so with a challenging glint in his eye as if he knew - and wanted the other boy to know - that if he wanted to, he could overpower him in an instant. 

When they left Jakku, and with it any hope of things going back to normal, Armitage had hoped that if nothing else it would mean Archex and the other orphans would be sent away, to train to be stormtroopers somewhere else. No such luck. Brendol - now General Hux - was placed at the head of the new Stormtrooper Program, and CD-0922 was unambiguously his favorite. 

Five years on and, though they were on separate tracks, Armitage and CD-0922 were competing for the same scarce resource - Brendol Hux’s approval. More often than not, the trooper cadet came out ahead. 

Now he was about to win again, turning Armitage in to his father for the crime of staying up past curfew. He would earn a pat on the back from Brendol and Armitage would earn a sound beating.

“You shouldn’t be up either.” Armitage shot back, glaring up at the older boy.

“Actually, I’m shadowing a trooper on the sleep cycle shift, so I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, which is more than I can say for you. What were you up to anyway?” CD-0922 crossed his arms across his chest imperiously. He had recently hit a growth spurt (Armitage thought he might have done it out of pure spite) and now towered a good six inches over the other boy.

“None of your business.” Armitage tried to maintain a haughty air as he moved to brush past him and continue down the hall. “You’re right, I should be getting to bed.”

“Not so fast,” CD-0922 stepped to the side, blocking his path. “You’re breaking curfew. You’d better have a good reason.”

“I don’t report to you.” Armitage hissed, glancing around furtively. The last thing he needed was to wake one of the officers who’s quarters were along this hall.

“No, but I report to your father. I’ll tell General Hux you were sneaking around the ship while he was away. If you don’t tell me what you were doing, I’ll have to make something up. Maybe I’ll tell him you were going through his private files, see what he does then.”

“No!” Armitage exclaimed - louder than he meant to. “No. Please, please don’t! I was just in the archives studying. That’s all.” He gestured to his datapad for evidence.

The other boy lunged forward suddenly, violently, snatching the datapad from Armitage’s grasp and unlocking it, the backlit screen casting a blue glow on his sneering face.

“What are these supposed to be?” He demanded, studying the sketches. “Is that a Death Star?”

“Give it back!” Armitage insisted, all pretence of quiet abandoned. “Give it back right now!” Now it was his turn to lunge at the other boy, attempting to grapple back his datapad.

But the stormtrooper cadet used his height, raising the datapad above Armitage’s head.

“I can’t believe you stayed out past curfew just to draw stupid little pictures. You really think the rules don’t apply to you, don’t you? You think you can just do whatever you want. Brat.” There was a hint of real anger under his mocking tone.

“I was just studying. I was just -”

“You know,” the older boy cut him off, “you could build a whole fleet of Death Stars and your father would still think you were a joke.”

“Shut up!” Armitage reached up, grabbing at CD-0922’s arm to no avail.

“General Hux cares about strength, character - about loyalty and bravery. You don’t have that. And you never will because you can’t learn it in the archives.”

“Well I’m still his son,” Armitage spat, “which is more than you’ll ever be. I’m his heir - I’m the one who’s going to follow in his footsteps - even if you and him and everyone else thinks I’m not worthy. It’s what I was born to do, and he knows it and you know it. Just like you know you’ll never be anything other than a stormtrooper. You’ll never be his son. You’ll always be an orphan.”

CD-0922’s eyes widened into an expression of incoherent rage. He snarled as he snapped Armitage’s datapad in half and tossed the pieces aside, freeing his hands to lift the smaller boy by the front of his shirt and slam him against the wall.

“You pathetic, slimy little womp rat!” He roared. “I should knock your teeth out for that!”

Armitage’s feet kicked frantically as he struggled to break free of CD-0922’s grip. “You wouldn’t dare!” He hissed through clenched teeth. “You can’t hit me. You’ll be in real trouble for that.”

The older boy’s brow creased - a grudging recognition that Armitage was right.

“Maybe it’s worth it, just to make your smug little face bleed.”

As his assailant seemed to weigh the joy of hurting Armitage against the shame of Brendol Hux’s disapproval, Armitage seized his chance, kicking the trooper cadet hard in the groin, taking off running toward the safety of his quarters. But CD-0922’s legs were longer than his, and as soon as the older boy recovered from the kick, he was after him, closing the distance between them in a few strides and knocking Armitage to the durasteel floor. The smaller boy let out a strangled yelp as he tried and failed to break his fall, landing face first. He felt his nose break and blood began spurting forth from his nostrils, staining the ground.

The trooper cadet leapt back as soon as he saw the blood.

“Blast!” He hissed, backing away. “Kriff! I didn’t mean to - I - I’m sorry - I’ll take you to the medbay - we can fix this - fix you up before your father-”

“Before I what, Cadet?”

Both boys froze as General Hux rounded the corner behind them, hands clasped behind his back, datapad tucked under his arm.

“General Hux, sir,” CD-0922 stood to attention. His back was to Armitage but the boy didn’t need to see his face to know he was mortified. “Sir, I apprehended Cadet Hux returning to his quarters after curfew. When I questioned him about it he became belligerent. He assaulted me and then tried to make a run for it but he slipped and fell and -”

“He’s lying!” Armitage shouted, his voice distorted by his blood-clogged broken nose. “He pushed me, father. He broke my datapad too!”

The general looked between the two boys, unclasping his hands to stroke his beard as he pondered.

“Is that true, cadet? Did you push Armitage?”

CD-0922 stiffened and then looked down in shame or fear or some combination of the two. “Yes sir, General Hux.”

“And Armitage, did you assault Cadet CD-0922?”

“Yes, father, I kicked him, but it was only after -”

“Then you both chose this fight, so finish it.”

“What?” Armitage blurted out.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand.” Said CD-0922.

“Finish your fight. Don’t stop on my account. May the best man win.” He stood expectantly, once again clasping his gloved hands behind his back.

“All due respect, sir, I think the fight is finished - I was just going to take Cadet Hux to the medbay to fix his nose.”

Armitage nodded emphatically, regretting that decision as it only sent more blood cascading down his face onto his clothes.

“You were going to take him to the medbay to cover your tracks, cadet, but now I am here, and I am telling you there is no need for that. And I order you to finish this fight.”

“Finish ...finish it sir?”

“Back at my academy on Arkanis, cadets regularly proved their strength and their loyalty to me by eliminating their fellow students. They did not hesitate.”

“Sir, are you asking me to-” CD-0922 glanced back at him, looking almost as horrified as Armitage felt.

“I am  _ ordering  _ you to resume your fight, and to keep going until I decide you are finished - whenever that may be. You two chose to pick a fight on my ship, surely you should have the guts to finish it.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment Armitage allowed himself a spark of hope - that the stormtrooper cadet would refuse - would insist that the fight was over - that Armitage had taken enough of a beating. They might both get in trouble but that was better than the alternative - better than the older boy beating him to death while Brendol looked on. The two boys had always had animosity towards one another, but surely CD-0922 wouldn’t kill him over it. Would he?

“Yes sir, General Hux.” The older boy nodded rigidly, extinguishing Armitage’s spark of hope as he turned back to face him, his expression stony, his hands balling into fists.

___

The Tunnels, Two Months Before

Almost before he realized what was happening, Hux was unceremoniously shoved off of Dameron as the other man leapt to his feet and all but sprinted down the tunnel to embrace his droid. 

“Beebee-ate! Hey buddy!” The pilot embraced the small round droid as if it were a pet or a child - smiling ear to ear - wider than Hux had ever seen anyone smile. “Hey! I’m so glad you’re okay - are you okay? Did they do anything to you?”

At that he looked up from the droid to the other two beings in the tunnel - two large, insectoid creatures, just like the one they had found dead in the base. These ones were dressed in furs and carried large harpoon launchers like the one the Trandoshan had carried before.

“We did nothing to your droid but keep it safe from the storm, as we did your ship,” the nearer of the two beings - the one with the light, musical voice spoke up, large, hairy mandibles moving as they talked. Their Basic was good, but heavily accented. 

“My ship? Beebee-ate, is that true?”

The droid chirped a confirmation.

“Your ship is unharmed, buried in a safe location. Your droid told us to expect you, Poe Dameron, though we were beginning to suspect you might not survive. Your droid also told us that the one with you is an enemy. Is that why you were fighting outside the door?”

Dameron barked a startled laugh and the droid chittered mechanically, but the alien seemed deadly serious. They narrowed their eyes at Hux as one set of arms twitched toward the harpoon launcher. 

Cold and tired and shocked as he was, Hux could do nothing but stare from where he laid on the ground. He still had the blaster in his pocket, but his fingers were too rigid from the cold to work the trigger.

“We uh - we weren’t fighting,” Dameron admitted. “We were just-”

“We were huddling to conserve body heat.” Hux cut in, sitting up with a grunt and glaring at the armed beings.

“Yeah, exactly,” the other man nodded emphatically, shushing his droid when it let out a skeptical beep. 

“So he is no longer an enemy?”

“Not - uh - not at the moment. We agreed to put aside our differences for a bit, didn’t we Hux?” He grinned encouragingly.

“Yes.” Hux gave a firm nod and a tight, closed-mouth attempt at a smile.

“Then you shall both be allowed to live. Come, we will treat your hypothermia.” The two aliens began to turn back down the hall, the door to the outside sliding shut again, shutting out the cold air, and leaving the tunnel only dimly illuminated by low-grade industrial-looking lights which lined the passage.

“My ship,” Dameron blurted out, “uh, respectfully - thank you for saving us but - I’d like to see my ship first. You said you buried it?”

“Yes,” the nearer of the two beings said, “for safekeeping. But we cannot dig it out now, and where would you go in this storm? Come, we must treat your hypothermia, or you will die - your no-longer-an-enemy first, by the looks of him, then yourself.”

Hux tried to stand, but quickly stumbled into the side of the tunnel. His legs were at once completely numb and wracked with unimaginable pain - a buzzing, burning static sensation that rendered them quite useless.

“Hey, woah-” Dameron hurried over to offer him a steadying hand. “Let me help you, no-longer-an-enemy.” A wry grin.

Reluctantly, Hux let Dameron take most of his weight and help him along, one hand on his upper arm and the other around his waist as they followed the droid and the two beings further into the tunnel. 

The touch was firm but gentle, as if Dameron feared breaking him. Hux wished the man would break him - would drag him roughly by the arm - by the legs - make him hurt - something he understood, something hateful. Then Hux could go back to hating him too. The agony of being hurt - kicked while he was already down, would be nothing compared to this ...other thing he felt. This unsteady thing. He didn’t know how to trust his feelings toward Dameron. And he shouldn’t trust them. What good had trust ever done him? Whatever this unnatural softness was, it would go away again - hate would return. They would remember what they were - what they would always be. It didn’t do to want things, or entertain feelings which could never be fulfilled. 

“Should we ...you know ...talk about what happened?” The other man asked in a whisper.

“There’s nothing to talk about. We were delirious from the cold. That’s all.”

“You  _ know _ that’s not a hundred percent true, Hux.”

“I  _ know _ it doesn’t matter what’s true. What do you think is going to happen? That we’ll have some kind of ...sordid affair? Don’t be stupid. Nothing good will come from this.”

“Armitage-”

“Don’t.” He bristled at the use of his first name. He would not be manipulated.

“I just think-”

“This is a waste of time. These ...creatures are up to something. We need to be vigilant.” 

“They saved us. They saved Beebee-ate, my ship-”

“You haven’t seen your ship. You don’t know that they’re telling the truth. They could be in league with the people who captured us. For all we know they could be planning to eat us. Besides, even if they do have your ship in working order, you can’t be so foolish as to think they’ll give it back without expecting something in return. Nobody does anything for nothing.”

Dameron fell quiet, seemingly lost in thought. It was just as well, Hux was winded by the effort of speaking. It felt as though they had been walking forever and yet the tunnel stretched on ahead with no sign of ending or changing. Even with the other man holding him up, his strength was fading, and the pain shooting up from his legs was blinding. Against his will, his head nodded onto Dameron’s shoulder and he couldn’t manage the effort of raising it again.

Somewhere, far away, he felt his body falling, heard Dameron shouting. He was being held - or grabbed - or both.

___

The Unknown Regions, 25 Years Before

He was being dragged. Armitage could hardly see through his swollen eyes. Only the abstract shapes of reflections in the durasteel floor gave him a sense of where he was going and how quickly. CD-0922 had an arm around his waist and another roughly gipping his arm. His feet dragged on the floor behind him. 

“Stupid.” The older boy murmured under his breath. “None of this would have happened if you’d just come back before curfew.”

Armitage wanted to respond but his mouth didn’t cooperate. All he could muster was a weak groan. Even breathing was a monumental task. His father had waited until the stormtrooper cadet had beat him bloody before he finally ordered them to stop. Armitage hadn’t been able to look up at Brendol’s face, but he did not need to see the old man’s face to feel his searing disappointment.

“You may take him to the medbay now, cadet.” Brendol stepped over his son’s body on his way back to his quarters. “And Armitage, I expect you in your classes tomorrow. I hope you have both learned something tonight.”

“Yes, General,” said CD-0922.

“Yes, father.” Armitage had managed through a mouthful of blood.

“General Hux is a good person,” CD-0922 was saying, “a great General, a great man. He could be a great father to you, if you’d let him.”

Even through his agony, Armitage scoffed.  _ A great father _ . A rabbid rathtar would make a better father.

“You don’t know how good you have it - how much worse your life could be. General Hux saved me. He saves so many children like me - and you - you just take it for granted. You’re weak - soft. Spoiled. And you didn’t even fight back. Why didn’t you fight back?” The older boy’s voice cracked on the last word. Armitage couldn’t see his face but he sounded more desperate than angry. 

He stayed quiet. He wouldn’t give CD-0922 the reprieve of a reply. In his head though, he went off shouting at the other boy. 

_ Easy for you to say I have it good. He doesn’t beat you. He doesn’t call you useless to his friends. He doesn’t expect you to be anything other than you are, so you don’t have to fail him. I do. I do!  _

“If you’d fought back - if you’d showed him any strength at all - he might have let us stop sooner, don’t you get it? I don’t like this either but he was right to make us fight, he was trying to teach you something. You just refuse to learn. That’s why this keeps happening.”

_ How could I fight back when you’re bigger than me, stronger than me?  _

There was a hiss of doors opening and the lights grew exponentially brighter. The droids in the medbay knew better than to ask how this had happened. This wasn’t the first time Armitage had come in bruised and bloody. 

Out of some sort of guilt or, more likely, a sense of obligation to Brendol, CD-0922 stayed with him until he was on a bed, with bacta gel applied to his broken nose and the bruises on his face and ribs. He didn’t say anything, or look directly at Armitage until he took his leave. 

“I need to go report for the end of my shift,” he said at last, casting a final furtive glance at the younger boy. 

Armitage said nothing as he watched the stormtrooper cadet go. He made a list in his mind of everyone he would kill when he was really, truly powerful. There was his father of course, and his friends the cruel officers like Brooks and Pryde, he would destroy all those who had used their power to abuse him. But CD-0922 he wanted alive at least for a time. Alive but impotent, weak, powerless to even question Armitage. He wanted to make the older boy look him in the eye and then bow to him. Then, when his dominance had been asserted, when the stormtrooper fully understood that he had made a mistake choosing Brendol over Armitage - then he would die for this. 

“Your vitals indicate that you are distressed” a medical droid interrupted his seething to come at him with a syringe. “It is imperative to your recovery that you relax - and most importantly that you sleep.” 

He wanted to resist, but he couldn’t find the strength and the droid delivered a shot of sedative into his arm that plunged him into numb darkness.

___

The Tunnels, Two Months Before

“-and I’m sorry for that, but there’s nothing I can do.” Dameron’s voice, muffled by a little distance but animated with frustration. “Once I have my ship, get back the Resistance I can try and rally a real team to help you. There’s nothing I can do alone.”

“You aren’t alone.” The voice of the alien from the tunnel. “You have your no-longer-an-enemy with you. And we do not have the time to waste.”

“Hux is - well you’ve seen him, he’s in no shape to fight. And besides, we’re not - I mean we’re not enemies  _ right now _ , but he’s not trustworthy.” 

Hux opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. A small, dimly-lit room. A single overhead electric light and an industrial-looking heat lamp in the corner. His uniform and parka were draped over a stool before the heater. He was lying on a cot, almost naked - stripped to his regulation briefs and covered in some kind of muddy-grey salve that burned and tingled against his frostbitten skin. 

The more he observed the more questions he had - but more pressing than all of that was the conversation happening outside this room. 

“He’s a bad man,” Dameron was saying, “a criminal, and I need my ship back so I can bring him to justice. He isn’t going to agree to help you, and even if he does it’ll only be so he can stab you in the back later.”

“Then why did you insist we help him?”

“Because I - because he’s important to the war. I need him alive.”

“Then you will help us, so you can regain your ship and take your prisoner back with you. There is no time to wait for assistance. The gods have sent you here in our time of need to help us. You will do it.”

Gingerly Hux swung his feet over the side of the bed and put his weight on them. There was no shooting pain from the frostbite, no numb heaviness. Whatever this salve was, it did seem to be healing him. He had to go out there and say his piece - get control of the situation before it was too late, but he couldn’t go like this - all but naked and covered in muck. He snatched his tattered jodhpurs off the chair and pulled them on over his salve-covered legs. He was loath to dirty them further but they were ruined anyway. At least they were dry now and warm from the heater. Without his belt they hung off him - his already narrow frame further diminished after days of barely eating. Still there was no time for his belt. He hardly had the patience to button his tunic before storming out of the little room and into what appeared to be a meeting room.

Dameron was standing beside his droid and opposite, seated on fur-draped stools were three of the insectoid beings. In the center was the one with the musical voice. Beside them on the right was the other that had met them in the tunnels and on the left the third was smaller - bent and greying around the mandibles, presumably with age. 

“Just what exactly is going on out here?” He demanded, striding into the center of the room to stand between Dameron and the aliens.

“Oh hey, you’re up,” Dameron said innocently. “How’re you feeling?”

“Irritated,” snapped Hux. Turning to face the other beings he composed himself and added, “thank you for your help - for tending to my wounds. I hope I can repay you by dispelling whatever lies Poe Dameron has been feeding you.”

The central being cocked their head. “He tells us you are a dangerous criminal, and a liar who is not to be trusted. His droid expressed much the same sentiments.”

“And it’s all true.” Dameron insisted.

Hux scoffed. “You shouldn’t listen to that man or his droid. Poe Dameron is a rogue member of a terrorist organization. His actions are not even sanctioned by his own leaders. He attacked my ship and killed my men while we were doing legitimate business on your planet. He is a morally bankrupt brigand and I assure you, whatever you believe he can do for you, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Woah, wait a minute,” the other man stepped forward defensively.

Before he could go on the alien spoke up again. “So each of you insists the other is untrustworthy. It is no matter, we trust neither of you. This is why we have Poe Dameron’s ship. We believed the gods sent him here in our time of need, but perhaps you were both sent for a reason.”

The older being nodded slowly. “They work in mysterious ways,” they added.

Hux’s mind was starting to work - to figure a way out of this. He did his best to muster a diplomatic smile. “I would be happy to offer my services in whatever way I can,” he said, “what is it that you believe the gods sent us to do?”

He could feel the heat of Dameron’s frustration beside him and cast the other man a cool glance. 

The central being spoke up again in their musical voice. “Our planet has been host to mining operations for all of our people’s recorded history. The owners of the mines were foreigners of your species - settlers - they co-opted many of our warrens, claiming that they ran along mineral veins. In exchange they gave us technology, employed us in their service. It was a fair exchange as far as our ancestors were concerned. We have not had conflict with the miners in more than fifty standard years as we have reached an understanding that there be negotiations before any further expansion into our warrens. Lately though, they have not been respecting this agreement. There have been surveyor droids spotted in our tunnels, and an increased number of ground quakes, suggesting that digging has moved closer to our homes.”

“It’s duralium they’re mining, isn’t it?” Hux asked, the pieces beginning to come together in his mind.

“That is what they call the mineral they extract.”

“Demand must be going up with the war - the demand for ships and stations. You said the last conflict was more than fifty years ago? That would put it during the Clone Wars - the same era as the base where we were held. The Empire forgot this place, meaning it saw less use during the civil war, but it makes perfect sense that duralium mining operations would ramp up in times of conflict.”

“But what is it you expect us to do about it?” Dameron cut in. “Go in, blasters blazing and kick the mine operators off your planet?”

“Oh no, we do not want the mines to go away, we simply want to negotiate for a return to our agreed upon terms. We do not ask you to fight for us, only to negotiate.”

“What makes you think we’d have better luck negotiating with them?”

“Because you are human,” the being answered matter-of-factly.

“You know, not all humans know each other, let alone like each other.” The Resistance pilot said.

“Perhaps not, but we believe there is a reason you were sent to us. Time and time again we have petitioned the New Republic for aid in this matter, but nothing has been done.”

“Typical,” Hux sneered, “the New Republic ignoring the needs of its citizens.”

“Yeah, they’ve been especially bad about that since  _ someone  _ destroyed the Hosnian system.” Dameron snapped, his frustration palpable.

Ignoring the squabbling men, the being on the right reached into its fur garments and produced a patch, identical to the one that had been sewn to the front of the jumpsuit worn by the dead alien in the base - the same symbol that was on the holomap. This one had text, and it was plainly legible.  _ Incipt Mining _ . 

“This is their symbol,” they said.

Hux’s eyes lit up. “I believe I can help you,” he said, “I’d be happy to negotiate on your behalf. There is just one thing I would ask in return. If I succeed where he does not, I get the X-Wing.”

“What?” Dameron practically shouted.

“That seems reasonable.” The central being said. The other two nodded in agreement.

“No,” the other man insisted. “Fine - I’ll go - we’ll both go, but you’re making a mistake. You can’t trust him, and you can’t give him my ship!”

“So you will do this thing for us?”

“Of course,” Hux assured them, “we can set off as soon as the storm lets up.”

“There is no time to wait, and no need,” the being on the left said, “you can access the mines without going above ground.”

“You will depart as soon as you can make yourselves ready,” said the one in the center.

“Okay, fine. Just - let me talk to Hux for a second - figure out a strategy.” 

Dameron sounded agitated, grabbing Hux’s arm and pulling him back toward the little side room.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed once they were fully in the other room.

“Saving myself,” said Hux, “and helping the locals in the process. I won’t let you manipulate them into helping you.”

“Oh,  _ I’m  _ being manipulative? What was that back there? Smiling at them - promising to help them negotiate - as soon as you get what you want you’re going to do something fucked up like blow up this whole planet.”

“No I won’t!” Hux insisted. “They’ve done nothing to warrant a strike from the First Order. In fact, if they help me, I’ll do what I can to make sure an official treaty is signed between them and the mining company and that it is actually enforced which is more than the New Republic ever did.”

“You’re lying through your teeth!” The other man sounded more exasperated than angry. “All you care about is looking after yourself.”

“Well someone has to!” Spat Hux, more emphatically than he meant to. They were standing so close they were practically toe to toe - Hux asserting his considerable height advantage. “You don’t have to believe that I will help these people in the long term but believe me when I say I will do whatever it takes to get out of here as something other than your prisoner and to get to the bottom of this blasted mystery. Did you see that symbol? It’s the same as-”

“I know,” Dameron rolled his eyes. “Why do you care so much about solving this?”

“Because when I get back to the First Order - and believe me, I  _ will  _ get back to the Order, they will ask me how I could possibly be so foolish as to be captured and how it took so long for me to escape. If I don’t have a satisfactory answer, I could face serious repercussions.” His hand inadvertently darted to his throat. “I can’t - I will not allow that to happen.”

“If you’re so scared then why are you trying so hard to get back?”

“Because I have more work to do for the Order. And I’m not scared, I’m rational - a concept which I’m sure is completely foreign to an idiot hothead flyboy like yourself. Now, I don’t care what you think or if you trust me. I’m going to negotiate with those mine operators and I’m going to win your ship. Once I use it to get back to the Order, I’ll have it melted down.”

At the mention of his starfighter being melted down, Dameron’s eyes flashed with rage. “I can’t believe I kissed you!” He spat, standing up even straighter to close some of the height difference.

“Oh believe me, I’m as horrified as you are.” Hux said cooly.

For a moment they said nothing at all, the tension between them so dense a lightsaber couldn’t cut through it. This was far from the first time they had fought since this ordeal began, but the atmosphere now was subtly, infuriatingly different, as if something imperceptible had shifted and disrupted their hostile equilibrium. 

“Gentlemen?” The musical voice of the being issued from the other room. “Have you finished strategizing?”

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late update (it was a chaotic week, sorry!) but i hope you enjoy! As always thank you so much for your comments and your support!!!

The Unknown Regions, Seven Years Before

“Starkiller Base will be the fist of the First Order, the steadying hand the galaxy so desperately needs to restore peace and order.” 

Even as his sweaty palms soaked his gloves and his heart raced in his ears, the young colonel’s voice was steady, self-assured, passionate. He stood, straight and thin as a rail, before the members of First Order High Command arranged around a long table - some physically present, others appearing in ghostly holographic form. Thankfully the Supreme Leader was among the latter group, his grotesque form projected into the seat at the far end of the table. All of them watched him intently, their expressions running the gamut from intrigued to unimpressed.

“Of course,” he went on, “research for the project began long ago. My first command five years ago was a successful mission to Cirus II to recover the plans for an Imperial prototype. But thus far, this has been research without clear direction, without a vision. I have that vision. I will provide that direction. These plans you see before you represent the future we deserve, that so many of you - of all of us - have sacrificed so much for. Starkiller Base will be so undeniably powerful, that the feeble New Republic will buckle before its might. After its power is demonstrated, even on an uninhabited system, they will have no choice but to bow to the First Order.”

He paused for a beat, taking the opportunity to breathe before pressing on. 

“On page thirty-four of your dossiers you will find my suggestions for the team to lead the project under my direction. I have gone to great lengths to identify and recruit many of the best engineers and scientists in the galaxy, but of course defer to your expertise and preferences. As for funding, I have laid out a budget plan accounting for acquisition of supplies, security, and construction over the course of a ten year timeline.”

“Ten years, Colonel Hux?” The Supreme Leader spoke for the first time since the meeting began. “The First Order has waited in the shadows too long already, and you propose waiting another decade?”

Hux felt as though his spine had been replaced with a pillar of ice. His eyes darted instinctively to his father’s face - stony as ever - Captain Cardinal standing obediently behind him, no doubt smirking under his red helmet. 

“Supreme Leader, my apologies - I understand the urgency, but even the Empire’s DS-1 Orbital Battle Station, which was a fraction of the size and power of Starkiller, took nearly twenty -”

“But the First Order is not the Empire. We do not have the same luxury of time. Surely a bright young man with your talents and your ...ambition can find a way to get it done more quickly.”

Hux clenched his hands behind his back so tight he felt his fingers tingle with lack of circulation. He ran the calculations in his head, frantically trying to force the numbers to conform to his needs. It would be difficult, and every year shaved off opened him up to potential mistakes - mistakes which, he knew, would almost certainly cost him his life, or worse his reputation. 

“Five years,” he said, “I can do it in five years.”

“Very good.” A hideous smile twisted the Supreme Leader’s face. “In that case, I whole-heartedly approve the colonel’s proposal. I must go, but rest assured Colonel Hux, we will speak soon, in private. If you can truly do all that you propose, you will go far.”

Hux wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or gut wrenching terror as the Supreme Leader’s image flickered and vanished from the head of the table. He had done it - it didn’t matter what Command thought, if the Supreme Leader approved his plan, they wouldn’t dare oppose it. But now that he had secured the all important approval, he actually had to make the thing, and in half the time he had planned for.

“It appears as though your plans have been approved,” a sardonic voice from the far end of the table. It was General Pryde, or his holograph, his small tight mouth twisted in a sneer. “But I for one still have some questions.”

A murmur of agreement. Some of Command already seemed won over by his proposal, but others, namely the old guard of Imperials - his father and his friends - seemed less impressed.  _ They’re threatened by me _ , Hux thought,  _ they fear a future they will not be a part of _ . That thought was enough to ease his posture a little. They could nitpick his plans and try to uncover his weaknesses, but they would find nothing.

“If you truly can build what you have proposed, the sheer amount of energy required for a single use will be astronomical. It’s hardly an efficient tool.”

It wasn’t a question, just a critique, but Hux was unphased. “A weapon as powerful as Starkiller Base does not need to be efficient. It is powerful, not for what we will do with it, but what we  _ could do _ . What it represents. The power to destroy worlds is a weapon in itself. We need only use it once, demonstrate its power on some uninhabited system, and then the New Republic will bow before our might.”

Pryde scoffed. “An uninhabited system? You would waste the energy of an entire star, the First Order’s precious time and resources, to blow up a few uninhabited rocks? And what if the New Republic doesn’t bow? What if they strike back at us after we’ve spent our shot?”

The colonel’s cheeks burned. He tried not to let his shame become legible on his face, but he was sure Pryde could sense it - could smell his fear. “If you turn to page twenty-two in your dossier, you will find I laid out the strategy for harvesting and storing energy from other stars to lay in reserve. True, it will take some time for the weapon to recharge, but in the time it would take for the New Republic to organize its neutered military and send its fleet to the Unknown Regions, Starkiller would be ready to strike again.”

“That still incurs unnecessary risk,” said Pryde. “Not to mention it makes the Order look soft. We do not fire warning shots.”

“Then let the first shot be to the very heart of the New Republic. The Hosnian system. Obliterate their fleet and their traitorous leaders in one fell swoop.” 

He spoke from the boiling pit of shame in his chest, even as his brain and his heart recoiled from what he was saying.  _ Trillions will die, hundreds of trillions more will be hurt, will lose loved ones, will never forgive the Order. They will never accept our rule then, and by the time the galaxy bends the knee, there will be nothing left to rule over but the dust. _

But he saw the approval in the faces of Command. Even his father nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. 

And then he understood. The New Republic might be the enemy of the First Order, but his war was with the people in this room, and they were watching his every move, waiting for a flaw in his strategy, something they could use to destroy him. To show any sign of mercy - of concern for the galaxy - would be a fatal weakness. If he wanted to win this war, he must be ruthless. If he wanted to rule, he must be willing to rule over an empire of ashes. He had always wanted to be remembered as a hero, to be admired and loved. He understood now that that was not an option, not if he wanted to be safe. He would be great, but never good - he would be monstrous or he would be killed. And if it wasn’t him who committed these atrocities, he told himself, someone else would. Someone who wasn’t acting in the interest of the galaxy. He would save the galaxy, restore peace and order and prosperity, and most importantly of all, he would save himself, but this was how he would have to do it. Someday, when the dust had settled and order reigned, he would be revered as a hero. But it would not be in his lifetime, and that was his sacrifice. 

“Without a central government,” he went on, the confidence in his voice building, “there will be nothing for the Resistance to rally around. The power vacuum will destroy them more efficiently than any weapon could.”

A murmur of agreement. 

As the meeting reached its close, and the formal atmosphere broke down, Hux moved along the table, speaking with each of the senior officers in turn. He shook hands with some of those who were physically present, or leaned down to point out part of the dossier that would be of special interest.

He passed by his father without a word, letting his withering gaze linger on Cardinal for a moment before moving along. The man might be a captain now, might have gotten a new name and a pretty set of armor, but he was still a stormtrooper - he was still CD-0922 - and Hux was determined to let him know how the balance of power was tilting.

“Colonel Hux,” it was General Pryde, his thin lips twisted into the sinister mockery of a smile. “That was quite the presentation. This project of yours seems poised to take you far.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Oh don’t thank me,” said the older man, “be careful. Ambition is healthy, especially for someone your age, but watch that you don’t overstep your abilities. I find the faster the rise to power, the quicker and harder the fall.”

____

The Tunnels, Two Months Before

The natives called the tunnels “warrens” but they were more like a labyrinth, paths twisting and turning and bending back on themselves until it was all but impossible to tell which way they led. If it wasn’t for the holomap they would be hopelessly lost. The aliens had shown them the path to the Incipt Mining offices. It was an indirect back way in, but with the storm raging outside travelling straight across the planet's surface was not possible.

The tunnels were lined with large round holes - doors into private dwellings. Eyes followed them from inside those doors, foot traffic parted to let them pass. It was obvious that these beings were not used to seeing humans in their warrens. Hux shared their discomfort. The old guard of Imperials might have fled to the Unknown Regions, but they took their prejudices with them. He had been raised on stories of alien treachery and savagery, incompetence and strangeness. He knew most of it was propaganda. Most things he had been taught were propaganda, but that didn’t make them false. 

His fingers traced the blaster in the pocket of his parka. He had not told Dameron about it, and the fact that it hadn’t been taken while he was unconscious suggested the aliens hadn’t bothered to search the coat. He wouldn’t mention it yet. It was always better to have something up one's sleeve. 

The other man hadn’t spoken to him much since they set out. His frustration - with Hux, with the situation, with himself - was palpable. He walked quickly, holomap in hand, the little droid rolling along beside him. It would be easier to let him seethe in peace, but they would have to talk eventually - to make a plan.

“It’s getting hot,” Hux remarked, slipping off the parka as he offered the verbal olive branch. “We must be going deeper down.”

Dameron started a little at the sound of the other man’s voice, but didn’t turn around or slow his pace. “Yeah.” He said simply.

Hux sighed and closed the distance between them in a few long strides, dodging the little droid. “How long are you planning to sulk, Dameron? We need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“We need a plan. We know nothing about this world, nothing about the politics of this situation. I still don’t trust these ... _ beings _ when they say they have your ship, let alone that they intend to give it back.”

“They saved your life, or at least a couple of your toes from frostbite. You certainly acted like you trusted them when you were stabbing them in the back.”

“Oh please. They kept me alive so you could turn me in to the Resistance. I said what I needed to say to ensure that doesn’t happen. I will help them if I can, if they are truthful, but we’re no good to them - or either side of the war - if we die because we ran into a dangerous situation without a plan. It may be-” he lowered his voice and cast an anxious look around, “it may be that the best course of action for us - for them - is to make a deal of our own with the mining company - they could-”

“Do you hear yourself?” Dameron cut him off. “Do you actually hear the things you say? These people saved your life, and you’re going to sell them out to the mines?” He said the last sentence too loud for Hux’s comfort.

“Shh!” He hissed. They were leaving the inhabited part of the tunnels, but he didn’t want to risk being overheard. “No! I said I was considering all my - all  _ our  _ options. As should -”

He was cut off as the ground rumbled beneath their feet, coaxing a little rain of dust down from the ceiling. His heart skipped a beat, but he maintained his composure.

“Ground quake,” he said flatly, “they did warn us that they had been happening.”

“Yeah,” Dameron snapped, clearly getting over his own moment of panic, “because of the mining operations - the ones we promised to convince them to stop. This is why they need us.”

“That was barely a tremor.”

“This one was. But who knows how much damage the next one could do - how much damage they’ll do over time.”

Hux rolled his eyes in reply and picked up his pace.

“You promised to help them.” Dameron insisted.

“I can’t help them if I’m dead or captured. If we can negotiate with the mining company for a better deal for the natives, of course we should do that, but we must consider the possibility that it would be more beneficial to be open to any route that might be advantageous.”

The little droid chirped something he did not need to understand to get the gist of and moved directly in front of him as if trying to trip him.

“Tell me Hux, honestly - do you believe in anything? Is there anyone you wouldn’t betray or sell out just to save your own skin?”

Hux felt his face flush with anger - waves of blood crashing against his cheeks. “I believe in the First Order,” he spat, “I believe in  _ order _ . I believe in the work I have to do - that no one will do if I die. I believe that after every miserable thing I’ve been through, every terrible thing I’ve had to do, if I can’t live to see it through to the end - it’s all been for nothing.”

“You keep talking about this ‘work’ you have to do. What work? What is it you think you have to do that’s so important that it’s worth ...all this? Haven’t you ruined the galaxy enough?”

Before he knew it, he was shouting, the words frothing forth from his lips, echoing off the roughhewn walls of the tunnel. “I’m trying to  _ fix _ the galaxy, Dameron. It’s sick. It’s chaotic and dying. The New Republic, the Resistance, the old Imperials, the Sith and the Jedi, it’s all poison. I want to purge it all. I  _ know _ the horrors I’ve committed. I know as long as I live, there is  _ nothing _ I can do to make it right. I also know that as long as I live I can ensure that those horrible things weren’t done for nothing, that progress is made and something better rises from the ashes. I am not selfish, I am not cowardly. I am smart. I’m determined. I’ve outlived so many - my father, his friends, Snoke, the New Republic. I refuse to die for something as stupid as a land conflict on some back-system planet.” He spat out the last word, panting, winded by his rage.

Dameron gawped a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. At last he swallowed and said “that is the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Save the propaganda speeches for your own people - you can’t honestly believe that.”

“This isn’t propaganda, Dameron, and it isn’t belief - it’s the truth. I have seen horrors you cannot even begin to fathom. I have seen the worst of the galaxy - the suffering, the strife, the wars. The galaxy needs order, it needs a strong hand to stabilize it.”

The other man stopped walking to look at him. There was anger in his eyes, but it was overpowered by something else - something worse - pity.

“That’s all the galaxy is to you, isn’t it? War and suffering and chaos. That’s all you can see. Kriff, Hux, I feel sorry for you. That’s sad. Sure, there’s horror in the galaxy, there’s plenty that’s evil and ugly. But there’s so much else. There’s a hundred trillion different cultures - with their own art and holidays - there’s joy and beauty and excitement,” as he spoke his eyes burned with passion, his hands gestured emphatically. “And none of it - none of it - not the good or the bad - can be controlled. You can’t beat the galaxy into submission - not in a way that matters or lasts. If you want to change the galaxy for the better, you have to fight for what makes it good - but you don’t see it. You can’t.”

They were both standing still now, Dameron in front of him, blocking the way forward. The droid had rolled a ways ahead, lingering just beyond its master.

Hux’s lips pressed together, twisting into a scowl. He wanted to retort - to tell the other man he was a fool, a naive optimist doomed to die by the hand of the galaxy he claimed was beautiful. 

He heard his father’s voice, ringing in his ears -  _ the galaxy is a beast that will tear you apart and devour you if you cannot beat it into submission _ . Time and time again, Brendol Hux had been proven right. The galaxy showed its viciousness, its cruelty, and worst of all its apathy. Life had proven to be a brutal, bloody struggle against death with no reprieve and no help from others. If there was beauty, it was fleeting and fragile, or else terrible and sublime like Starkiller or the storm. It only showed how deluded Dameron was - the whole Resistance. And Hux wanted to say all that, to spit the horrible truth of the galaxy back into the man’s face, but the words caught in his throat. 

“We should go,” he said at last, pushing past Dameron and sidestepping his droid. “It’s a long way to the mining office.”

“So we’re dropping this too?” The other man quickened his pace to catch up. “Just like we dropped what happened outside.”

“That was the plan, yes.” He picked up the pace.

“Well I don’t want to do that.” Dameron closed the distance. 

“Well feel free to have a one-sided conversation. It’ll do the same amount of good.” 

“You know what, fine. I will. I don’t get you, Hux. Every time I think I do, you say something else that’s a new kind of stupid.”

“Off to a great start already, I see.” Hux rolled his eyes spectacularly.

“Look - I thought you were just evil. Evil and power hungry and maybe a little pathetic and cowardly. But now -” his voice faltered. “I feel really stupid talking to myself about this.”

“You’re not,” Hux’s voice came out softer than he meant it to. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”

Dameron sighed and slowed his pace. The droid chirped something that sounded exasperated.

“Oh don’t give me that!” The man scoffed. “Look,” he looked back up at Hux, “I-”

For a moment, everything seemed to be moving at half speed. Dameron’s expression turned from pensive to horrified. The industrial lighting that had been set up along the passageway flickered like strobe lights - illuminating the horrible scene only in flashes. The tunnel ceiling rained down dust and chunks of stone. The ground - once solid stone - became a roiling sea, tossing under their feet before tearing itself open, directly beneath the Resistance pilot. And then time was moving normally again - the ground had stopped moving as quickly as it had started but Dameron was falling, the droid rolled forward reaching out with a small retractable arm - trying and failing to catch him.

“Poe!” The name tore from his lips. “Poe!” He scrambled forward, dodging the chunks of rock that still rained down from above, falling to his knees and sliding to the edge of the crevasse beside the frantically trilling droid. He did not know what he was feeling - panic, fear, desperation.

Miraculously, the other man was holding on, a few feet down, dangling above a deep, newly formed trench. He looked up at Hux, face streaked with dust. There was real terror there, and shock and confusion. But not a drop of trust. That was fair enough. Hux had no reason to save him. Indeed, letting him die would be massively easier - cleaner than the alternative. 

But he didn’t think. He wasn’t rational. Poe Dameron was there, and he could save him, or at least he could try, and so he must. One arm reached out, the other braced against the edge of the chasm.

“Take my hand!”

Dameron shook his head. “You can’t take my weight.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” his voice was more pleading than confident, despite his best efforts.

“I can’t.”

Suddenly there was a tug at his trouser leg and a sharp beep. He looked up to see the little droid holding on to him, ready to help him lift the other man.

“You can! Your droid has me. I - we won’t let you fall!” 

A pause, a moment of uncertainty, and then Dameron took his hand, entrusting him with his weight. For a moment, he felt as though his arm would be wrenched from its socket. He thought of letting go. He gripped tighter.

It was by a valiant effort on his part, but mostly thanks to the droid that Dameron was finally hauled up. As soon as he was clear of the edge, he grabbed onto Hux as if they were the only two solid things in the galaxy, collapsing, breathlessly on top of him. 

Somewhere, between the terror and the relief and the loss of his last rational thought - they kissed. It wasn’t clear who started it - but Hux had a mortifying feeling it was him. Dameron tasted like dirt and dust. His own hands were shaking and clumsy as they cupped the other man’s unshaven face. It was a quick kiss - like the ground quake - over before he could fully register what had happened.

“Kriff,” Dameron laughed, awkwardly rolling off of Hux, “we have to stop doing that every time we think we’re going to die.”

The droid chirped its disgruntled agreement.

“I know, Beebee-ate, you helped. What - do you want a kiss too?”

A vehemently negative series of beeps.

After a pause, Dameron turned back to Hux, serious now. “Why’d you do it? It would’ve been easier for you to let me die.”

Hux tightened his mouth and pushed his hair back from his face - it did no good, it fell right back into his eyes without gel to keep it tame. 

“I…” he searched for a reason - as much for himself as for the other man. “Because … because I could,” the words came to him from across decades - from worlds away - from the mouth of someone else, “because it was the right thing to do.”

Dameron scoffed, rising shakily to his feet and offering Hux a hand. He took it, his arms still sore from the work of lifting the other man. He retrieved his parka from here he had dropped it, checking briefly that the blaster was still there.

“When we get to the mining office,” he said, “I will have some strong words for the operator.”

“Still planning to make a deal with them and screw over the natives?” Dameron asked, half-mockingly.

“Oh I still might. But first I’ll give them a talking-to about mining safety. This is absolutely irresponsible.”

The other man shook his head. “What I was going to say before - before the ground tried to eat me - I thought you were just plain evil. But I get it now. You’re not evil - I mean, you’ve done evil, unforgivable things - but it isn’t because you're evil - hells, there might even be the ghost of a half-decent person somewhere in you - it’s because you’re wrong, and stupid, and you only see the worst in people - in everything.”

Hux barked a harsh laugh at that. “I would argue that you’re the one who’s wrong and stupid,” he said with a smirk, “but in this context, after everything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

___

The Unknown Regions, Seven Years Before

Phasma leaned against the refresher door while he vomited. 

“Are you nearly done?” She asked. “How much can you possibly have in there? It’s not as if you eat.”

“Sorry,” Hux finally fell back from the toilet with a sigh, coming to rest on his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“So what happened?” The woman asked, still resolutely looking away from the grotesque scene. “Did they reject your proposal?”

“No,” Hux spit out the last of the bile that was in his mouth and wiped his lips with a handful of toilet paper. “It was approved. The Supreme Leader himself said so.”

“Then why are you throwing up?”

“The timeline. Supreme Leader said ten years was too long. I said I could do it in five.”

“Can you?”

“I think so. I ran the numbers, it will be difficult but it can be done.”

“Then you’re fine.”

“I also promised the first target would be the Hosnian System. All those innocents. I - Phasma, I don’t think I can do it.”

“Of course you can. You’ve worked too hard for too long to give up now. If you don’t do it they’ll kill you, and that would be a massive waste.”

“You’re right,” said Hux, “of course you’re right.”

“You want power, don’t you? You want to beat out those old Imperials and make the Order better. This is how you do it. This is how it has to be done. Now that the Supreme Leader has approved your plan, your position is stronger than ever. I think it’s nearly time to deal with your father. We can’t do that if you back out now and get killed.”

The colonel nodded and rose on shaking legs to wash his hands. “Thank you, Phasma.” He said with an attempt at a smile. “I’m sorry.”

She said nothing, her expression was as inscrutable as if she were wearing her helmet. In silence he watched her watch him in the mirror until his hands were clean. 

“Armitage,” she said, just as he turned to leave the refresher, “don’t ever show me this side of you again. I like you, but I have to look out for myself. I can’t risk putting my trust in someone weak.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience as I continue to just ...not have a consistent update schedule. I really appreciate all the lovely comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter

  
  
The Tunnels, Two Months Before 

He should have let Dameron fall. He should have let him fall and shot the droid and been on his way to the mining office alone. He should have put all these treacherous thoughts from his head. So why hadn’t he? His whole life had been a series of lessons in letting things go - in not growing attached - not to people or plans or planets. All of them could be ripped away in an instant and to try and hold on only meant risking being lost along with them. 

It was a foolish thing to feel attachment to anything other than his goals and yet here he was, inexplicably attached to someone whose very existence was a threat to those goals. Twice now he had spared Poe Dameron and for what? For the fleeting, foolish security he felt in the other man’s arms? For the unexpected gentleness of his rough hands? For the warmth of his kisses? The way he said  _ Armitage _ like it wasn’t a slur to be spat at him? The way he talked about his convictions with such passion it almost made Hux want to believe him, despite knowing he was wrong? Foolish reasons, all of them. Dangerous reasons. He was not some moth to be lured to the light and warmth of a pretty trap.

But there was one reason to keep Poe Dameron around, he reminded himself - to turn him over to the First Order. It was the only way he would be getting out of this alive. Dameron would do the same to him - was planning to do the same to him and made no secret of it. They weren’t falling for each other - there was no budding romance - just two lost, tired, confused people clinging to the nearest solid thing to survive. When the storm passed - when the mystery was solved, the dream would end and the warmth would fade and everything would go back to the way it was - the way it should be. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Dameron asked, looking over at him as they made their way down the tunnel. 

The passage had narrowed the point that it was difficult to walk side by side. The other man was walking so close to him that their hands repeatedly brushed up against each other. Eventually Hux had been forced to clasp his hands behind his back to avoid it.

The droid rolled ahead, holding on to the holomap.

“I was planning ahead,” said Hux, half-truthful. “Thinking about how to approach the mine operators.”

“You think they’re the ones behind this whole thing? I mean, the logo on the dead guy at the base, the map, and they’re obviously up to something, breaking their deal with the natives.”

“It’s possible,” said Hux, trying to shove all his confused feelings down to give the logical part of his brain space to work. “Probable even. Given that they mine duralium they might have a vested interest in bringing the war closer to them, and what better way to do that than to set up a situation that could lure both sides here. Wartime is their most profitable, but the civil war seemed to have passed them by. I suppose they may have decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Dameron nodded. “So they hired those thugs to lure us here and bring both sides here after us.”

“They weren’t all hired thugs. The arms dealer - the Twi’lek was legitimate, or at least his stock was - but I suppose it would be easy to get an arms dealer in on such a scheme. After all, he stands to profit from bringing the war here too, doesn’t he?”

“Mm.” The other man seemed to mull that over. “That does all fit.”

It did fit, though there were a few inconsistencies still nagging at Hux. “It’s just,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes only for it to fall back down again, “if one wants to profit from a war, it's good to have the war nearby, but not right at one's doorstep. They must have known that the First Order would be as likely to obliterate the planet as they were to pay a ransom.”

“Good point,” Dameron nodded, “it would be hard to miss what colossal assholes you guys are.”

“Exactly.”

“But that assumes they’re thinking this through as much as you are. Maybe they’re desperate. Desperate people make stupid, rash decisions.”

“That is true. I don’t know.” That last sentence spoken with a bitter grimace. He hated not knowing. He hated feeling as though he were being played for a fool. 

“All we can do is go in assuming the worst.” Dameron’s tone had changed, his posture straightened, as if he were addressing his squadron. “Assume they did this, that they’ll be waiting for us. Bringing us to this planet, letting the Order and the Resistance know we’re here, that’s really all they needed us for. Keeping us alive probably isn’t a priority anymore. If they shoot, it’ll be to kill.”

“Excellent points. All the same,” said Hux, falling into his own working voice, “it never did anyone any good to go into an unknown situation, guns blazing. When we reach the mines we should do some reconnaissance - send the droid in ahead to assess how many guards there are, how they’re armed, and the best method of approach.”

The little round droid - Beebee-ate - chirped sharply at him.

“I know he’s not the boss of you,” Dameron assured it,”but he might be right.”

An exasperated beep. 

“You know,” the Resistance pilot turned to look at Hux, a smile playing on his lips, “you’re wasted on the First Order, General. You make a great scheming, scrappy underdog.”

His heart twinged at that. Not at the thought of defecting to the Resistance - that held no appeal whatsoever - but at the noted lack of hatred in Dameron’s voice. There was respect in his tone, and warmth in his eyes. It was the cruelest thing in the galaxy, that warmth. 

“I think I’ll leave being the underdog to you.” He said with a tight smirk. “It suits you.”

“You know,” the other man drew closer, “we might be about to die again - maybe we should …” his hand brushed Hux’s shoulder, fingers skirting the edge of his collar, trailing on the exposed skin of his neck.

“I think we’d better not,” he said, stilling Dameron’s hand. 

There was no denying that part of him wanted to let it happen - to kiss the other man again, to lean into the embrace - to lean into all of this. It took all his resolve to put a stop to it. Every time this happened, every show of passion or tenderness was a blow to his resolve. He couldn’t afford that now. He had to remember who he was.

“Yeah … no yeah, you’re right.” Dameron looked away and quickened his pace as he followed his droid. 

_ This is your enemy _ , Hux mentally chided himself -  _ this is the man who ruined your career, who wants to see you dead, your dreams in ruin, your legacy obliterated. Everything you are and everything you want is antithetical to him _ . All the moments of kindness, all the tender kisses in the galaxy weren’t worth losing sight of his goals. Dameron might be the kind of person who could wear his affections on his sleeve and get over them just as easily, who could kiss a man passionately and then go back to fighting him as if nothing had happened, but Hux was not. It was a monumental task to accept affection, and an impossible one to trust it. Every fraction of an inch he gave these feelings felt like he was being asked to step off the edge of a cliff and have faith that the air would hold his weight. And Armitage Hux did not put any stock in faith. His hands twisted together behind his back. Without his gloves his fingernails were free to bite into his flesh, breaking skin. This whole ordeal would be over soon. He would turn Dameron in and be cleansed of this whole mess.

His thoughts had blinded him to the passage ahead, so much so that Dameron suddenly throwing his hands up above his head was the first clue Hux got that there was a blaster trained on them.

He quickly joined the other man in holding up his hands as they were faced down by one of the insectoid aliens, clad in a grey jumpsuit bearing an Incipt Mining patch. In two of its arms it held a well-kept but antique-looking blaster rifle.

“What are you doing here?” The armed being asked, its great eyes narrowing. “These tunnels are off limits. You should not be here.”

“On the contrary,” said Hux, stepping forward while keeping his hands held steadily and visibly above his head, “this is precisely where we should be. In fact we’re quite lucky to have run in to you. We represent the residents of these warrens - your own people - who wish to ensure their previous agreements with Incipt Mining still stand. We come in peace, we only want to talk, so if you would be so kind as to show us to the mining office -”

“You do not look official.” The alien cut him off, their tone hard but their body language softening a little.

Hux smiled and nodded at the sorry state of his and Dameron’s clothing. They certainly looked about the furthest thing possible from an official delegation. “I’m afraid our journey here has left us a bit the worse for wear. All the same, we would like to do right by your people. We would like to speak to whoever is in charge of operations here.”

After a long pause, in which Hux tried to calculate how quickly he could draw his blaster from the pocket of his parka which he had dropped when he raised his hands, the guard sighed and relented. 

“I will take you to Mr. Vanus, the owner and operator of Incipt Mining Corporation, but I should tell you - he may refuse to speak to you. He has been very busy of late.”

“Busy with what?” Dameron piped up from beside Hux.

“It is not my place to know,” the guard replied.

They were led further down the passage, through a set of durasteel doors locked with a key code, and into what was obviously an active mineshaft. Hux covered his mouth with a hand to avoid choking on the dust. All around them were more of the native aliens, dressed in jumpsuits and masks, operating heavy machinery or working at veins of duralium with handheld tools. Others patrolled the tunnels with weapons, like the guard who had ambushed them in the passage. The air was full of a chorus of coughing and moaning and Hux could not help but notice the rickety-looking wooden supports reenforcing the shaft, the obvious youth of some of the miners and obvious decrepitude of others - this place was clearly not up to code. The guard escorting them mumbled something to a comrade in a language Hux couldn’t comprehend before leading them to a large industrial lift. It was the most advanced piece of functional technology he had seen in days, and his heart fluttered at the sight of the touch screen interface and the smooth motion of their ascent. 

According to the lift, they were on sub-level 6, ascending to sub-level 1. As they rose, nobody spoke, but Hux and Dameron made brief eye contact. The Resistance pilot set his jaw and knit his brows as if to say  _ I’m ready for a fight _ . Hux pursed his lips and inclined his head -  _ good, but not yet. Be careful _ . The droid for its part has been silent since they were apprehended, but Hux noticed it noticing everything on their way through the mines.

At last the doors slid open and both men had to shield their eyes from the bright overhead lighting, amplified by and reflecting off of the white walls, floor, and ceiling. The place was immaculately clean, every surface gleaming, the air thick with the scent of some perfumed disinfectant. It would have been comforting and familiar to Hux if it wasn’t so jarring. To be surrounded by light and cleanliness and technology after so long - it was as if he were in a trance, a dream or a memory. It took every ounce of mental fortitude he had to stay present and alert as they emerged.

Opposite the lift doors was a reception desk, manned by a chrome-plated protocol droid which rose to meet them almost as soon as they stepped out.

“Please,” she spoke in a grating, tinny voice, holding up her hands, “please stop there, you’ve tracked dirt far enough inside already.” 

A droid after his own heart.

“Apologies,” said the guard, “these two humans and their droid claim to have been sent by the locals to negotiate the terms of their agreement with the mines. They have requested an audience with Mr. Vanus.”

“Appointment?”

“What?” The guard cocked their head, their mandibles rubbing together in front of their mouth.

“Do they have an appointment?”

“We don’t, I’m afraid,” Hux cut in, “I understand this Mr. Vanus is a busy man, but I suspect he will want to make time for this.”

“Hearing the complaints of the locals is not a top priority for Mr. Vanus at this time,” said the droid, moving back toward the desk, “but I would be happy to record a message for his consideration.”

Frustrating but not surprising. He stood up straighter, held his head high and let a little of his old pride and dignity flash in his eyes. “Perhaps his priorities would change somewhat if he knew that I am General Hux of the First Order, and my associate and I are on official business. Of course he is still free to decline, but I would have to report his refusal to the Order.” He conspicuously flashed the insignia patch on the sleeve of his tunic, the twin black stripes, lined in white on his sleeve that denoted rank. It felt good to pull rank, to remember himself - to actually  _ be  _ General Hux of the First Order again.

The droid paused a moment, and then gestured to the guard. “You may go. I will be in touch with Mr. Vanus right away.”

The two men met one another’s eyes again as the guard obeyed, stepping back into the lift and leaving Hux, Dameron, and Beebee-ate alone with the receptionist, who was busy, simultaneously dialing a number on her comm and fishing something out of a drawer.  _ The comms are working _ , Hux noted tacitly.

“Mr. Vanus? Yes. Two gentlemen to see you. Humans. One of them is - well sir, it’s General Hux - yes that one - and an associate. They claim to be here on behalf of the locals, but also acting on authority of the First Order. Yes. Of course sir. Yes I will sir.”

The droid looked up from the comm and rose with two pairs of white slippers.

“Mr. Vanus will see you shortly. Please put these on to avoid tracking dirt any further into the facility. And please refrain from touching or sitting on the furniture. Mr. Vanus is very particular about cleanliness.”

She also made to take Hux’s parka, which was still tucked under his arm. He firmly but politely declined with a wave of the hand. He wouldn’t part with his blaster now - not when they were in the very belly of the beast.

The two men exchanged an incredulous look before slipping off their shoes and putting on the slippers. Meanwhile the protocol droid went back to her desk, stowing their shoes on a shelf behind her before returning her focus to a large, outdated-looking computer console. 

“ _ We’re _ from the First Order?” Dameron hissed, leaning closer.

“ _ We  _ need bargaining power, and the might of the First Order carries a bit more weight than your little Resistance at the moment, wouldn’t you agree?”

The other man scowled but nodded. “So what do you think - is this Mr. Vanus expecting us? Did he do this?”

“I don’t know.” He had never said that sentence as many times in his life as he had these last few days. “He would be the most likely suspect.”

“I've still got my knife,” the other man said in a barely audible whisper, “and Beebee-ate has ...means. If it comes to it, we can give them a fight.”

Hux nodded and knit his fingers together behind his back. “I have a blaster.” He said, praying he would not regret putting his cards on the table. Much as it gave him a sense of security to have a secret from Dameron, something he could whip out at just the right moment to change the balance of power, it made more strategic sense to tell him about the weapon. It didn’t do to go into battle without knowing everything your own side had in reserve.

“You what?” The other man exclaimed loudly enough that the droid glanced up from her console.

“Ssh!” Hissed Hux. “I have a blaster. My blaster. I found it outside by the wreckage of my ship.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I _ am _ telling you. That’s more than you have any right to expect.”

“Fine. Fair. And you haven’t used it to shoot me yet,” Dameron added with a half-smile, “even though you had plenty of chances, which I do appreciate. I still don’t love the idea of you being the most armed man in the room, but I guess we’re on the same team - for now.” 

The  _ for now _ was added hastily, almost guiltily to the end of the sentence. They both knew this - all of this was temporary.

“I still think we would do well to lead with negotiation. Even if he is the mastermind of this whole plan, that only speaks to a desperation for business, something that can be easily exploited.”

“Where’s all this passion for negotiation when you’re firing on Resistance ships?” Dameron asked, his tone light.

“You have nothing worth negotiating for.” Quipped Hux, his lips turning up in a smirk.

“Ouch.”

When danger was present - when they were forced to work together - to really be on the same team, it was so easy - the banter, the strategizing, everything else - it came naturally, more naturally than any interaction he’d had with his own side in a long time. That was the cruelest thing about this whole situation. It was so easy. The hard part was fighting back against it.

“Gentlemen?” The droid rose from her desk. “Mr. Vanus will see you now.”

The three of them moved to follow the protocol droid but she raised a silver finger to still them.

“The BB unit will have to wait out here,” she said as the door slid open to reveal a long white hallway, “too dirty.”

“No,” Dameron insisted, “the BB unit comes with us.”

“General?” The chrome droid glanced at Hux.

The general sighed. “The droid does have to come along. Valuable First Order tech. I can’t let him out of my sight, I’m afraid.”

“If you insist.”

Dameron mouthed a silent  _ thank you _ as they made their way down the pristine hallway. One wall was lined with sealed doors, and the other was an uninterrupted sheet of white. In a strange way, the light bouncing off the bright surfaces, playing tricks on his eyes, reminded Hux of the kaleidoscope of hyperspace.  _ Don’t stare into it too long _ , he remembered Grand Admiral Sloane telling him once, a hand on his shoulder,  _ you’ll go mad. _

It was strange, Hux noted, that there seemed to be no other guards. If this Mr. Vanus was the one who hired the brigands that orchestrated this whole thing, it was strange that he didn’t seem to have hired guards. But, he reminded himself, just because security measures weren’t evident, that did not mean they weren’t there.

At last they came to a door which was sealed with both a key card and a pin pad.

He felt Dameron’s hand find his arm and squeeze. He did nothing to rebuff the gesture, but neither did he acknowledge it. The door slid open.

After the overwhelming brightness of the hall, the room they entered felt pitch dark. It took a moment for their surroundings to take shape - an office - desk, shelves, chairs, there were no lights on in the room, only the blue glow of an incomprehensible cluster of holograms. At the center of it all was a man, or the shape of a man, outlined by the dim light.

“There you are …” he said, “it’s really you,  _ the  _ General Hux.” The man’s eyes seemed impossibly large as they took him in. “You can go,” he gestured at the droid. 

Hux watched the door slide shut, sealing them in the dark room with this strange man.

“General Hux,” said the man, “I’m the owner and operator of Incipt Mining, Mr. Vanus - Trivian Vanus - my friends call me Triv. You can too, if you like.” He looked between the two men, his head bobbing along with his eyes. “And you,” he squinted at Dameron, leaning in close, “you’re the other one - the Resistance guy - Poe Dameron. Welcome. Glad you made it. Upset that it’s true and you’re here, but glad you’re not dead.” He was in his late middle age, perhaps two decades older than Hux, blonde hair interspersed with even lighter silver, catching the light in a blue halo.

Hux glanced past the rambling man to the mass of holograms. There were maps, logos - the Incipt mining logo, the First Order’s symbol, the symbol of the Resistance, and another that he didn’t know, and pictures of places, faces, some of which he recognized - his own, Dameron’s, a few others - and some he was sure he had never seen. In his wildest dreams of this conspiracy, he never imagined it would look like this- intricate, and laid out in front of him. An anxious voice in his head told him that just by walking into this room they had seen too much. 

“Can I … can I get you something? Caf? Water? You both look exhausted, I-”

“I think we had better cut straight to the chase, Mr. Vanus,” he clasped his hands behind his back, pulling himself up to his full height, significantly above the other two men. “You clearly know who I am - who we both are - so I suspect you know why we are here.”

“Ah, right, that whole business with the locals,” Vanus nodded sagely, but his body language betrayed him. His shoulders folded in, his eyes seeming to look everywhere but at Hux and Dameron.

“Oh we will get to that in due time, Mr. Vanus, but that isn’t what I mean.”

The older man took a step back in the face of the general’s cool gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux saw Dameron take a step forward too, striking a menacing stance at his side. The droid had moved quietly - more quietly than Hux would have thought it able - to sit just a few more paces behind Vanus, ready to trip him or pen him in if need be.

“You mean whatever nasty business brought you two here. The kidnapping?”

“Yes, Mr. Vanus, I do.”

“I know how this all must look but -” he took another step back, one more and he’d trip over the little droid.

“I would advise you to think carefully about the claims you are about to make. We do not have to be enemies, Mr. Vanus, despite what you have done, I understand that it came from a place of desperation, that your business is struggling, unprofitable in peacetime and passed over during the last war. You were forced to take drastic measures, I understand that. The First Order can be merciful, it can be forgiving and it may be that we will give you the business you so clearly need.” He softened the edges of his words, spoke cooly and firmly, but never took the full force of his gaze away from the man’s face. “However, if you lie to me, or try to obfuscate the truth, I will not be so forgiving - to say nothing of how the First Order will respond.”

Vanus glanced past Hux to Dameron, eyes wild.

“What are you looking at me for?” The Resistance pilot asked. “You heard the general. I know he looks like a toothpick but he can actually be pretty scary when he wants to be. Let me tell you, I’ve been interrogated by the First Order before - it’s not fun.”

Hux couldn’t help the smirk that turned up the corners of his mouth at that.

“Please,” the man turned back to Hux, “I can explain everything. I’m not the one who organized this, but I know who did, and I want to stop them as much as you do. I’m actually glad you found your way here. I was going to organize a search party to try and find you when the storm cleared, try and put things right before it was too late.”

Hux glanced over at Dameron who looked as befuddled as he felt, and then turned back to the older man, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Why don’t you start explaining, Mr. Vanus, then we shall decide if it’s too late or not.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late update, but it's a long one this week!

The Unknown Regions, 23 Years Before

Grand Admiral Rae Sloane was facing away from Armitage when he entered. Her back was straight, her white-gloved hands clasped behind her back as she studied the vacuum beyond.

“You know the worst thing about the Unknown Regions, Armitage?” She asked, without turning to look at him. “There aren’t enough stars. It's all ...so empty. Don’t you think?”

“Yes sir, it is.” He agreed, looking out at the velvet blackness beyond. 

She was right. People said the Unknown Regions were full of dangers and alien terrors and those things were there, he’d seen them himself, but truth be told the only thing the Unknown Regions were full of was nothingness. 

“I used to look up at the stars and think there were too damn many of them. Too many systems for the Empire to manage, too many worlds falling through the cracks. Now ...I can’t breathe for the emptiness. It’s claustrophobic. This is no kind of life.”

She sighed, still watching the void outside. Armitage walked forward, coming to stand beside the Grand Admiral. She was as strong and steady as a pillar, the light of the few and distant stars reflecting off her dark skin and catching in her eyes. Age and stress had drawn lines in her face, and broadened the streak of white in her dark hair, but she seemed anything but old.

“Do you remember the time before all this Armitage? Your life back on Arkanis? Even your time on Jakku?”

“Not much, sir,” he admitted. He remembered Arkanis and Jakku in snippets, most of them traumatic, moments of sound and terror and hurried movement. He struggled to recall the feeling of real ground beneath his feet, of wind, of the warmth of a sun on his skin. He wasn’t sure if his lungs would remember how to breathe unfiltered air, if his legs would remember how to walk on uneven ground.

“Of course,” said Sloane. “You were very young. The Empire only exists in stories for you. History lessons and other people’s memories. The Empire wasn’t perfect - don’t let anyone tell you that it was - if it was perfect we wouldn’t be here - we wouldn’t need the First Order. But it was better than this. Better than the chaos of the New Republic - better than exile. You - all the children of the Empire - deserve a sky full of stars, a peaceful and prosperous galaxy. That’s what this is all for. Not power for the sake of power, not for some Emperor’s ego - it’s for you - for your children, and theirs. They deserve the stars you were robbed of.” 

She sighed and shook her head. “But I didn’t call you here to ramble about stars. I have a job for you Armitage.”

The boy’s ears perked up at that. He resented being ordered around by his father and his cronies, but whenever Sloane gave him a task he leapt at the chance to accomplish it perfectly. Even if it was simple or menial work, she entrusted him with it respectfully and she always thanked him for a job well done. 

She reached into her pocket and produced a shiny black datachip, embossed with her personal seal. 

“As you should already know, General Pryde has graced our ship with his presence. I need you to deliver this to him. He’s staying in his standing quarters in the guest officers wing. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes sir.” His father had sent him on errands to Pryde’s quarters before. It was never an enjoyable task, the man always had some little cruel quip to throw at him, but for Slone, he would brave it.

“Good. I need you to bring General Pryde this chip. It contains vital, highly confidential new intelligence so it’s paramount that you do not give it to anyone else. Not his droid, not one of his aides, only to General Pryde himself, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Excellent. Once you’ve handed it over you can return to your normal duties. If your father asks what you were doing, you tell him it’s classified. If he has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.” She pressed the chip into his palm with one hand and patted him firmly on the back with the other. “Good. Now run along Armitage.”

Armitage thanked the Grand Admiral and saluted her before hurrying off with a purposeful spring in his step. He waited until he was in the hallway to smirk. He had a secret now - a secret that his father was not allowed to know. If there was one thing he had learned in his time in the Imperial Remnant and now the First Order, it was that there was nothing quite so powerful as a secret. 

___

Incipt Mining Office, Two Months Before

Mr. Vanus let out a stuttering sigh and cast one last desperate look around his office. Hux suspected there was a silent alarm somewhere - probably under the desk - he would have to be kept here, helpless in the center of the room. He glanced over at Dameron, standing beside him, hand conspicuously cupping the shape of the knife in his pocket. If it came to an interrogation, or in a worst case scenario, a fight, they would be ready. He wondered if it would ever cease to feel strange - them being on the same side - the knowledge that he was armed being a comfort, rather than a cause for concern. Better if it never did. This was temporary, after all, and their alliance of convenience had almost run its course. Once the mystery was solved and the storm had passed, that knife could turn on him.

“I know how this all must look,” the man said, “and you have no reason to believe me - but I have evidence - I’ve been gathering evidence for a while now.”

“For a while?” Hux raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Mr. Vanus, how long were you aware of this plot?”

“It - it’s not like that. I didn’t know it would be like this - that they’d go so far as to get you involved, sir. If I had any inkling I would have done something - would have warned you. I just knew something would happen - they’d do something big.”

“Who is this  _ they _ ?”

“Cuspis Mining Corp. The second biggest duralium mine in this system. And my biggest competitors. It's like you said, business is slow - been slow since my father ran the business sixty years ago. It’s desperate times - getting business means stealing it from your competitors - in whatever way you can. They’re trying to sabotage me, see. Trying to kill me if they can. They’re trying to eliminate the competition. I knew they were going to do something soon. I’ve been taking steps to protect myself from what I thought they were going to do. I’ve been checking all my food for poison, fired all the sentient workers in my office - droids are safer. Keep all my workers in the mines in case they’re compromised. I have a fleet of security drones around the surface. I saw their ships - coming and going from the planet -  _ my  _ planet - poking around that old army base - I knew they were up to something. I sent one of my workers to investigate - he never came back. I knew-”

Dameron snorted derisively, “Sorry,” he said, “sorry, it’s just - you’re telling me this whole thing is some kind of business rivalry gone wrong?”

“It’s the livelihoods of planets!” Vanus snapped, showing something other than fear or simpering flattery for the first time.

“I think what Commander Dameron is asking,” said Hux, casting a cautionary glance at his companion, “is what this all has to do with us. I have some suspicions as to what the answer might be, but why don’t you lay it out for us, Mr. Vanus.”

“Sorry, thank you, General,” the older man nodded and rubbed his hands together anxiously. 

His fingers were long, his nails immaculately clean and trimmed. His palms were a raw red - not with the calluses of manual labor, but seemingly scalded by hot water and abraded by harsh chemicals.  _ The hands of a hypochondriac, _ thought Hux.

“See,” he went on “competition’s always been fierce between our companies - even when there was plenty of business - back when my father ran the company - since things have gotten harder, the competition’s gotten meaner, bigger. Anything to steal a crumb of business, you know? Blowing up a shipment of machine parts here, having someone assassinated there -”

“Arranging for the kidnapping of two prominent officers from opposing sides of a galactic conflict,” Hux offered.

The older man’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable smile. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a clever plan I suppose, setting you up to take the blame for the kidnapping, ensuring that your business, if not your whole planet is destroyed while your competitors get to reap the benefits of having the war and the resulting demand for duralium nearby. Very clever indeed,” the general mused, “but convoluted. In my experience, the simplest answer is often the most likely to be true. Right now, it seems to me that the simplest answer is still that this is your doing. You arranged this in a misguided attempt to bring business back to your world, and when you realized your mistake, perhaps after your hired thugs ran off, you constructed this convenient little excuse to pin it on your rival.”

“I have proof!” The man insisted, moving toward the cluster of holograms. “I can prove it. I can prove all of it. Those hired thugs - they aren’t mine, but I bet I can guess who some of them were. Can I-” He made to swipe through the images.

Hux glanced over at Dameron who looked wary of the idea. 

“If he tries anything,” Hux said, with a smirk, “cut his throat.”

The other man’s eyes widened for a split second before he composed himself again and nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, patting the knife in his pocket.

“So you two seem like you’re getting along,” the older man cut in with a hard swallow and a nervous chuckle.

“The proof, Mr. Vanus,  _ now. _ ” Said Hux, stepping closer and asserting his considerable height advantage as he leaned past the man to study the holograms.

“Right, yes, sorry.” His hands shook as he pulled up the image of a human woman with scars covering half her face. “Let me guess, she’s one of the people who kidnapped you?”

“They called her Nim,” Hux recalled, nodded as he studied her face.

“That’s right. Nim Cuspis. Her father was the owner of Cuspis mining until -” 

He faltered, and swiped again, pulling up another picture of the woman, younger this time, and scar-free, next to two other women and an older man. A family picture. Hux noted the background of the image - a large building built into a rockface, a logo emblazoned above the grand entrance - too far away to make out, but clearly different from that of Incipt Mining.

“Until?” He pressed.

“Well see, it’s like I said, business is tight, competition ramped up -”

“You had him killed,” Dameron cut in from behind them, disgust obvious in his voice. “You had your competitor killed over business?”

Another hard, dry-sounding swallow from Mr. Vanus. “I know how it sounds, but, yes. It was all I could do, you’ve got to understand that. I have to keep the lights on, keep the machines working, pay my workers. So I ...made arrangements. Had his speeder tampered with. I thought it was the perfect way to get him - but just him, you know? No one else had to get hurt. But ...well I didn’t account for her. The girl, Nim, was with him in the speeder.”

“So you killed her dad  _ and _ messed up her face?” Dameron snorted, “no wonder she wants to get you on the wrong side of both sides of the war.”

Vanus shrugged weakly. “How’s that for a motive?”

“So she was the mastermind of this operation?” Hux asked, his skeptical gaze unrelenting.

“The whole family’s probably in on it,” the older man said, “the mother and the older sister. The girl - Nim - she’s just the scariest looking one - runs with a bad crowd. Bounty hunters and gangsters. She’s married to an arms dealer - a twi’lek. I suspect you met him too.” As he spoke he swiped again, pulling up an image of an all too familiar twi’lek.

“He called himself Duralium. I thought it was an odd choice of pseudonym. He was the one who brought us both here,” said Hux. It felt like a lifetime ago - the deal, the crash. “He offered to supply the First Order with arms - I came to settle the deal. He tipped off the Resistance, Dameron took it upon himself to show up.”

“And the rest is history.” The Resistance pilot said with a dry chuckle.

Hux moved forward again, forcing the other man to step back towards Dameron. He reached out and began swiping through the images himself. Mr. Vanus’s work was thorough. He had files on every member of Nim Cuspis’s crew and family, records of every ship that entered or left the planet’s atmosphere, a blurry image, seemingly from some security drone, of his crashed ship, another of him and Dameron unconscious, being dragged onto the twi’lek’s speeder. But for every useful piece of information there were a dozen useless ones. Dossiers on every supplier of food and goods to the company, from droid parts to cleaning products, lists of enough suspected conspirators to populate a small moon. He was telling the truth - but he seemed to have stumbled across it by accident or simply by virtue of being neurotically, obsessively thorough.

“I know it looks like I’m paranoid,” said Mr. Vanus sheepishly, “but you’ve seen - I’ve got good reason. They really do have it out for me.”

“So it seems,” Hux mused, still transfixed by the sheer volume of information. “Did you compile all of this yourself?”

“Yes. It’s the only way to make sure it’s done right - to make sure I don’t miss anything, and no one tries to hide anything from me. That’s why I fired all the office staff but the droids.”

“You know,” said Dameron, an irritated edge to his voice, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this whole crazy competition was actually doing more damage to your business than good.”

Vanus ignored him and kept talking directly to Hux. “So do you believe me now? Is that enough proof for you?”

“It’s certainly a convincing case.”

“So … what now? Can the First Order do something about it? I mean those bastards should be punished for what they did to you, shouldn’t they?”

“Oh, rest assured they will be punished,” said Hux, finally turning away from the holograms. “They made a grave mistake dragging the Order into your petty dispute. I noticed your comms are working despite the storm. I’ll contact Command as soon as we finish here, update them on the situation. But there is one last order of business we should attend to first.”

“Oh,” Mr. Vanus sighed. “Right. The locals. Can I … sit down?” He glanced at the desk. His legs were visibly shaking.

“No.” Dameron said flatly. Hux was surprised, almost impressed by the coldness in his voice.

“Right. Okay, that’s fine. Look,” the older man turned back to Hux, “what did they tell you? What did they promise you?”

“They told us you were violating the terms of your contract, expanding operations into their warrens, causing ground quakes. The last one we experienced ourselves.”

“I’m sorry about the quakes,” Mr. Vanus said, holding up his hands in acknowledgment, “but come on, General. You’ve got to know how hard it is to manage people - to run a large scale operation. You can’t please everyone and still turn a profit.”

“You’re exploiting those people!” Dameron snarled. “You’re destroying their homes!”

“Your practices will have to change if you wish to continue operating this mine.” Hux agreed. “Not just the unchecked expansion, but the conditions in your existing tunnels. It’s appalling and inefficient.”

Mr. Vanus looked back and forth between the two men, shocked and angry to be facing opposition on both fronts. 

“You agree with him, General Hux? I mean come on, since when did the First Order care about the comfort of miners? Did they bribe you? Threaten you? I can match whatever they offered tenfold. A hundredfold!” 

“These are my terms, Mr. Vanus: you will meet with the locals and renegotiate the terms of your contract with Dameron and myself as mediators. You will improve the conditions in your tunnels. I don’t give a damn about your miner’s safety, but a collapsed mine full of dead miners is no good to anyone, and given that your offices are built above those tunnels, I should think you’d consider that worth your time and resources to deal with. Certainly if you wish to do business with the First Order in the future you will accept these terms. And if you need a more immediate reason ...” 

He withdrew his blaster from his parka in a single, casual, languid motion, letting the coat fall to the ground as he leveled the weapon at Mr. Vanus. The older man’s eyes widened in terror as he stepped back, tripping over the droid and stumbling right into Dameron, who looked almost as stunned as he did.

“The way I see it, Mr. Vanus, the First Order could use the duralium in your mines, but we don’t necessarily need you. Perhaps it would be more prudent for me to shoot you, deal with your droids and hand the mine over to the workers. Perhaps they would be easier to work with. In fact, the more I think of it the more I like the sound of that idea.”

He trailed off, testing the weight of the weapon in his hand. It had been too long since he’d held it and his fingers embraced the grip like a long lost lover. He might shoot Vanus just for the joy of feeling it fire.

“Wait! Please!” The man whimpered, as Dameron, now composed again, held his arms behind his back. “I’ll do it! I’ll call a meeting with the local’s council. We’ll negotiate the contract, I’ll put in a work order for construction to reenforce the tunnels. Just ... please, put that thing away!”

“Very good,” Hux said with a smirk, only a little disappointed to slip the blaster into his trouser pockets without using it. 

“I’ll set the meeting for tomorrow. You two can spend the night here - there’s plenty of empty employee quarters since I fired all the sentients. I’ll have my droid take you. You two look like you could use a good night's sleep in a real bed, and a shower.” He added the last part with a visible grimace. Hux was sure he and Dameron must smell awful, though he had grown too accustomed to it to notice.

The offer of a shower and a proper bed was more appealing than he was willing to let on. He kept his face cool and skeptical as he motioned for Dameron to release the man.

“That sounds acceptable to me, what do you think, Commander Dameron?”

“Sounds great to me!” the other man said with undisguised enthusiasm. 

“Fabulous!” Exclaimed Mr. Vanus. “And General Hux, would you like to call the First Order and let them know about this whole situation?”

“I think I’ll hold off and call them tomorrow. The negotiations will have to be taken into account in my report.”

The three men said little else to one another as Mr. Vanus called his droid receptionist in. The older man shook the whole time he was speaking on the comm, and supported himself against the desk. When the droid arrived to show them out, flooding the dark office with light from the hall, Hux turned back to give the mine owner one last, withering glance.

“And Mr. Vanus, I hope I do not need to remind you that it would be unwise to try anything in the night. The First Order is expecting me back, and Dameron as my prisoner. Should one or both of us fail to make it back to the Order, there will be consequences.”

“Of course.” A nod which was so submissive it was almost a bow.

“Excellent. Thank you for your hospitality.”

With that they set off down the gleaming hallway. They entered an equally bright and pristine lift, its walls so polished Hux could see his haggard reflection staring back at him, mortifyingly out of place. As they descended smoothly, his eyes drifted over to study Dameron’s reflection. The other man seemed lost in thought, staring past the chrome-plated droid and into space. 

He had always thought him scruffy - his mess of dark waves and the stubble that shaded his square jaw would never stand up to First Order regulation. He was the sort of man Hux would see from a distance when he was a boy - wild, dangerous men - bounty hunters and criminals the First Order would contract out to do their dirty work - men his father would tell him not to look at, and certainly not speak to, men he’d think about when he was in the privacy of his quarters, with only his shame for company. He was like the rush of wind that accompanied a fall - the terror and exhilaration that rips the air straight from one’s lungs. And yet there were delicate features there too - coexisting with the scruffiness - those long dark lashes, the knife-sharp cut of his cheekbones. He was almost beautiful, in his wild way. Even now - the salt and pepper stubble almost a beard, dark bags weighing down his eyes - Hux could hardly look away. 

It would kill him to leave this all behind - he understood that now. He had flown too close to a sun, and loved its warmth too well. His old life - his propper life that he must return to - would feel forever colder and emptier by comparison. When he handed Dameron over to the Order, when they killed him, all hope of light and warmth would be snuffed out - but that was how it had to be - how it was always going to be.

He hardly registered when the lift stopped, and walked in a tired, melancholy stupor as the droid led them down another bright white hallway lined with flat, polished steel doors. She unlocked two of the rooms, side by side, one for each of them. They were plain quarters - not unlike the ones aboard the ships Hux had grown up on. Most of the room was taken up with a double bed, dressed in dull blue sheets and a grey duvet. In one corner was a closet where he found a crisp white jumpsuit bearing the Incipt Mining logo on the chest. On the top shelf, folded and vacuum sealed in clear bags were undergarments and what looked like pajamas. Mr. Vanus may have fired all his sentient workers, but it seemed that these quarters, much like everything else in these bizarre offices, had been kept clean and ready for use should the owner’s paranoia ever pass. On the other side of the room was a door leading to an ensuite refresher where a set of towels and a set of toiletries were waiting. 

The first thing he did was check the room for surveillance devices - he found four, including a small camera in the shower itself - and disabled all of them. When he was sure there was no way for his privacy to be compromised, he finally allowed himself to undress and step into the shower. 

Hux tried to avoid gimpsing himself in the mirror as he peeled off his ruined uniform, but he couldn’t avoid catching sight of ghost white skin, stretched taut over bone, streaked with grime and discolored by bruises and frostbite. He had never enjoyed the sight of his own body - the wretched pale, scrawny thing which brought his father such disappointment. Now, he found himself almost grotesque, unrecognizable for the filth.

He must have stood in the shower for an hour, just letting the scalding water run over him, carrying away the dirt and dust and dried blood. The soap that was provided was runny and scentless, but he worked it over every inch of himself, and through his filthy hair, praying that some of his traitorous thoughts would be washed down the drain with the suds. By the time he stepped out into the steam-filled refresher, his skin was a florid shade of pink, and his fingers were wrinkled at the tips from the water. 

He was starting to feel more like himself, and after he shaved his face and pushed his wet hair back from his forehead he very nearly looked like himself too - like General Hux of the First Order - destroyer of worlds, killer of stars. Almost.

A knock at the door made him start so hard he had to grapple frantically to keep the towel from dropping to the ground.

“What is it?” He barked, stumbling out of the refresher and into the main room.

“It’s me.” Dameron’s voice.

Hux sighed. He considered telling him to go away - he was hardly covered - still dripping wet - but almost unbidden his lips parted and his own voice said “fine. Come in.”

The other man started when he entered and saw Hux standing there, still bright pink, with his towel wrapped around his waist. It looked as though he had showered too, and shaved and dressed a clean white undershirt and loose pants.

“This place is weird, right?” He asked, going over to sit on the bed without being invited. The little droid rolled into the room after him, just before the door slid shut again.

“You know the doors can only be locked from the outside?”

“This whole place is strange,” said Hux, going into the closet to change in privacy. “Did you find all the cameras?”

“The what?” Dameron demanded.

“These rooms are full of cameras and bugs,” he explained, pulling on a loose white set of pajamas that felt as though they were made of the same papery material as hospital gowns. “I found one in the shower.”

“What!” 

The little droid chittered a kind of laugh.

“I disabled every one I could find in here.” Hux emerged again, dressed.

“I can’t believe it.” Dameron shook his head, settling to sit back against the headboard of the bed, crossing his legs nonchalantly in front of him. “Actually I can. That Vanus guy is crazy.”

“He is.” Hux agreed. “But why are you here, Dameron? What do you want?”

“To talk.” He said, suddenly serious. “You’re calling the First Order tomorrow right? After the meeting?”

“Yes.” 

“So let’s talk. Tonight. Now.”

Hux sighed and sat down at the bottom corner of the bed, his legs hanging over the edge furthest from Dameron. “About what?”

“Back there, we were really good together,” the man said with an encouraging smile. “We make a good team. The way we handled Vanus, the way we got through all of this. I know you saw that too.”

“So what?”

“So defect.” He said it confidently, matter-of-factly as if it were the logical conclusion. “Come back with me. If you cooperate - tell the Resistance everything you know, help us turn the tide of this war - I can help you get a pardon. You can start over. You could do so much good.”

Hux almost laughed at the absurdity of that. “Don’t be stupid. You know I can’t do that.”

Dameron sat forward, eyes burning into the other man. “Why not?” He pushed. “I’ve seen good in you,  _ Armitage _ . It’s there, no matter how much you try to stomp it out - there’s a good, brave, honest man in you. You saved my life, you stood up to Vanus to fight for the natives. Why not be that? Why not be free for the first time in your life?”

The use of his first name - spoken softly, urgently - made his shoulders stiffen and then bow forward, almost defensively, as if he could cower away from the feelings that name stirred in him.

“You’re tired,” he said, his voice thin and weary. “You’re sleep deprived and stir-crazy and rash. You know I can’t do that, Poe.” He said the other man’s first name like it was the name of someone already dead, someone he was already mourning. “Even if I wanted to, it would be impossible. And I don’t want to. The First Order is my life, it’s my life’s work and there’s so much still to do, I -”

“Kriff, Hux, would you shut up about your work? You’re a smart man - one of the smartest people I’ve ever met - you’ve got to know you’ll never be able to do what you want to do with the First Order. It’ll kill you before you can fix it - or worse, it’ll kill that part of you that’s still decent, and you won’t change anything for the better because you’ll stop wanting to.”

He had moved forward as he spoke, across the bed until he was sitting right beside Hux.

“Stop-”

Dameron’s hand found his and gripped it, his fingers winding their way between Hux’s and pressing against his palm. His hands were warm, and rough, his skin dry from the shower.

“Just think about it. Think it over. That’s all I’m asking.”

Hux sighed and looked down at his legs, his wet hair flopping into his face as he pressed his mouth into a tight frown. It was impossible, what Dameron was asking. And even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want it, not really. His goals were too important to throw away for a man - a man who could never really fall for him - who would inevitably come to his senses and leave Hux alone - disgraced and doomed. He thought about the galaxy, the sky full of stars Grand Admiral Sloane had promised him when he was younger. That was what he was fighting for, what he had already committed horrors to bring about, and that was a far more important goal than some fleeting personal happiness.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said at last, looking sideways at Dameron’s face. “About the First Order, about what it can be, what it can do. And even if you weren’t wrong, I still couldn’t do what you’re asking. I couldn’t just defect to the Resistance and leave it all behind. I’ve done too much. There’s no starting over from that. I suspect your friends in the Resistance would feel much the same way. In the morning you’ll wake up and realize how impossible it is. You’ll remember who I am, and who you are, and this will pass.”

His voice softened as he spoke, and his fingers tightened around Dameron’s.

“Hux -” the man pushed, urgently, his dark eyes burning from beneath his long lashes, “Armitage -”

“But it's a pretty fantasy, isn’t it?” Hux’s lips turned up in a smile - softer than any he’d ever worn before. He turned, pulling his legs up under him, and faced the other man. “A nice dream to entertain for a night. So tell me, what would it be like, you and I, free?”

Dameron chuckled, though there was more sadness in his eyes than mirth. Perhaps he really had thought he would convince Hux to join him. Putting his hope into lost causes seemed to be a specialty of his. But he smiled through it, and looked up into the middle distance as if constructing the perfect fantasy.

“You could do whatever you wanted - any job. No more dealing with Kylo Ren, no more getting mocked by dashing Resistance pilots in front of your whole crew,” he paused and grinned, “well, maybe some light mocking. But you’re obviously a great engineer - you could use that - design things that make the galaxy a better place, instead of killing people.”

“Maybe I like designing things that kill people,” Hux smirked, letting himself lean into the fantasy - sectioning it off from reality, into a compartment that could be locked away or hidden safe when it was time to be himself again.

“Well the Resistance needs weapons too,” said Dameron, his thumb tracing circles on Hux’s palm. “I’d show you all the amazing things in the galaxy, things that make freedom worth fighting for. You’d eat right - no more protein cubes or shitty instant caf. Real food, with real flavor. Maybe I’d even cook for you.”

“You cook?” Hux scoffed.

“I can do a lot of things,” he said, letting go of Hux’s hands to use both arms to pull closer, so the general was leaning back against his broad chest. 

Hux bristled for a moment - stiffening, then relaxing into it.  _ None of this is real _ , he told himself,  _ this is a dream. You can do what you want, and forget it all in the morning _ .

“And at night,” Dameron went on, “when you have nightmares and thrash around in your sleep, I’d hold you, like this until you wake up.” His arms wrapped around Hux, holding him in place, surrounding him in warmth and security. 

If he hadn’t decided that none of this was real, this would be breaking his heart. But he was able to let himself be held - tonight - in this fantasy.

One of the other man’s arms released him, and the warm, rough fingers moved to trace his jawline. No one had ever applied such a delicate touch to him before. No one had stroked him without a shred of condescension or malice or impending violence.

“And we could do this, whenever we wanted -”

His fingers suddenly tensed, as they gripped Hux’s chin and turned his head up and to the side, into a hungry kiss. Hux breathed deep, inhaling the warm clean scent of the other man. He reached up with a free hand to grip the fabric of Dameron’s undershirt, feeling the heat of his skin - the shape of hair beneath the thin fabric.

It was Dameron who broke the kiss, fingers cupping Hux’s freshly shaven cheek.

“How’s that for a pretty fantasy?” He asked with a grin.

“It’s very nice.” Hux’s voice came out uncharacteristically breathless.

“I was thinking - remember when you asked what I thought was going to happen between us? What did you say - ‘some kind of torrid affair’?”

Hux scoffed, and smirked up at Dameron. “I did say something to that effect.”

“So - I was thinking - this might be our last night together - so you know - why not do that?”

___

The Unknown Regions, 23 Years Before

There was a pit of dread growing in Armitage’s stomach - gaping wider and wider as he approached General Pryde’s guest quarters. The sense of purpose and confidence Sloane had imbued him with when she gave him this job had faded fast, replaced by his intense fear of the General. The pit in his stomach became a black hole when he heard a familiar voice through the door to the office.

“- my best with the boy,” Brendol Hux was saying, “they told me to teach him everything I know- and I have tried. But he’s impossible. If he were one of my cadets on Arkanis he never would have survived.”

“Bad breeding.” Pryde’s voice was cold and disinterested - a stark contrast to General Hux’s perpetually heated tone. “All the training in the galaxy cannot change that. Maratelle said the mother was some mousy little kitchen girl?”

“She was.” The same in the old man’s voice was audible. 

“Is it any wonder then that your son is a weak willed little thing? That he doesn’t take easily to grand purposes or military training? He might learn, in time, but he will only ever be a shallow impersonation of the real thing.”

“You’re right,” Brendol sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have left him behind on Arkanis. Maybe his mother would have taken him in, though I doubt it. But the Empire needed children - the First Order  _ needs  _ children. All we can do is hope he will make something of himself, or at least not get in the way.”

“Indeed.” Armitage could almost imagine Pryde’s small, tight mouth forming the words - the ghost of a smirk twisting his lips. 

“And how-” his father’s voice faltered, “how is Maratelle? I know you still keep in contact with her.”

A pause, a sigh. “She went home to Onderon,” said Pryde. “She is still angry - understandably so - but she has managed to weather the transition to the New Republic better than most. I suspect the family money helped. I believe she is starting to understand that it was far better for her to stay behind, that you did her a service not dragging her into the Unknown Regions.”

“That is good to hear.” It was hard to tell from the other side of the door if Brendol meant it. “At any rate, I should go. I have a new cohort of storm trooper cadets to drill.”

Armitage scrambled to get back from the door as he heard his father’s footfalls approaching. 

“Goodbye, General Hux,” said Pryde. “Shall I tell Maratelle you asked after her?”

“Better not,” his father replied sullenly. 

“Indeed.”

The door slid open and Brendol Hux emerged, his eyes finding his cowering son like a magnet snapping to its polar opposite. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing here Armitage?” He barked, reaching forward to grab the boy’s arm.

“I’m sorry father, I was just doing a favor for Grand Admiral Sloane.”

“What favor?” Brendol’s eyes flashed with dislike at the mention of the Grand Admiral. In Sloane’s presence he was always respectful and polite, but he had no problem expressing his hatred for the woman in private. Her relationship with Armitage only made him more vitriolic.

“I’m not supposed to say,” Armitage almost whispered. Having a secret was powerful until he was being punished for it. “Grand Admiral Sloane said it is between her and General Pryde. She said it was important.”

“And she entrusted  _ you _ with that task?” The old man’s face creased with spiteful incredulity.

“Yes father.”

Brendol let go of his wrist, sending him stumbling forward, off balance.

“Then get to it Armitage,” he spat. “Better not keep Grand Admiral Sloane waiting.”

As Brendol Hux stormed off down the hall, Armitage slunk forward to General Pryde’s open door. The man was sitting at his desk, greying hair slicked back above his high, creased forehead. He was looking at Armitage as if the boy were a flea-ridden stray tooka cat which had wandered into his pristine office.

“I understand you have something for me, Cadet Hux?” He raised his eyebrows impatiently.

“Yes - yes sir.” Armitage stepped forward into the room. “Terribly sorry for the intrusion sir.”

“Don’t waste my time on apologies, get to the point.” 

“Yes sir. Sorry sir - um - sorry,” his words tumbled out, tripping over the fear in his throat. He fumbled in his pocket and produced the datachip. “Grand Admiral Sloane asked me to deliver this to you, Sir. She said it contained important new intelligence, that it was to be kept absolutely secret.”

Pryde’s gloved hand snatched the chip. He made to insert it into his computer and then paused, lifting the thing up to study it closer. Armitage stood, back straight and rigid as the swagger stick which rested on the general’s desk, unsure of what to do now.

“You aren’t cut out for spywork, Armitage,” Pryde spoke at last. 

“I wasn’t - sir - I’m sorry - yes sir.” He hung his head, hoping to hide some of the flush which had risen hot and red in his cheeks. He wished a hole would open up under him and suck him out into the vacuum of space. Anything to escape Pryde’s cold blue eyes.

“Perhaps not,” said the general, fingers turning the chip over and over on the desk. “All the same, don’t ever eavesdrop on me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then you are dismissed, cadet.” Pryde waved him off, looking back down at the chip to signal that he was done with the conversation.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience between chapters and your lovely comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter which more or less marks the halfway point of this story.

_ The Supremacy,  _ Six Years Before 

“Have you ever felt the Force?” 

“No,” said Phasma simply. “I’m surprised you even believe in it.” 

Colonel Hux adjusted his teal cap, tucking a stray lock of hair back up and out of sight. He would look perfect, immaculate, the very picture of order when he met with the Supreme Leader. Snoke had already approved his proposal for Starkiller - funds and resources had been allocated and the slow wheels of bureaucracy and protocol had started to turn, but this wasn’t the end yet. The Supreme Leader had asked to meet with him alone. It could only mean that Starkiller had earned him some kind of secret task, or perhaps a promotion. It had only been two years since he had made the rank of colonel, but he was ready for a change. To make general before he was thirty - now that would be something. Who could question his worth then? He had heard that Force users could sense emotions - smell fear like wild animals, so he swallowed his fear and guilt as best he could and tried to cover up what weakness might remain with an impeccable appearance. His hair was slicked back beneath his cap, his uniform clean and pressed stiff, his boots so polished he could have checked his reflection in them. 

“I don’t believe in it,” Hux corrected himself, “not really. I mean, I know it exists, Grand Admiral Sloane told me about it.” His voice faltered as he said her name. It had been years now since she disappeared, but the wound was fresh as ever. “But I don’t think it’s all the Supreme Leader makes it out to be. Still - she told me they can see into your mind - sense doubt, and fear.”

“So don’t have any doubt or fear for the Supreme Leader to sense.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. 

He was glad she had volunteered to walk him to the meeting. Phasma, with her strong, stoic presence was better for his nerves than any pill he’d gotten from the medbay.

“He approved your Starkiller proposal,” Phasma went on, “you’ve more than proven yourself. You’ve put your foolish reservations about the Hosnian System behind you, haven’t you?”

“I have.” He hadn’t, but he’d swallowed the guilt and buried it under a thousand justifications. 

Someday this would scar over, like every other wound to his conscience, every other agonizingly cruel choice he had made, that had never really ceased to be agonizing, but had faded into the white noise of his existence. 

“Then you have nothing to fear, and no reason to doubt. You’ll be fine. This is a promotion, isn’t it?”

“I think so - I hope so. What else could it be?”

“Exactly. Supreme Leader Snoke has recognized your talent, he’s going to reward your skill. Don’t give him a reason to think you’re weak or having second thoughts now.”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Hux could hear her smile through the helmet. 

They were drawing near the long hall to the Supreme Leader’s throne room, a part of the dreadnought Hux had never been to before. Red armored guards flanked the door at the end of the hall, each bearing a vicious looking vibro-voulge as long as Hux was tall.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said, turning to the woman beside him and trying to smile. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Just remember,” she said, “no one ever got promoted for being unsure of themself. You’re the man who’s bringing him Starkiller. You’re clever and ruthless and confident.”

“Yes.” He nodded stiffly.

“And when the Supreme Leader signs off on your promotion, he’ll be signing your father’s death warrant. Remember that. We’re so close.”

She gave him a firm clap on the shoulder. Phasma always knew just what to say. As the two parted ways and Hux approached the guards, his posture was straight, his head held high, his heart only pounding a little faster than usual.  _ You are clever and ruthless and confident _ , he repeated in his head,  _ you are the Starkiller, you are destined for great things.  _ The red armored guards said nothing as he passed them, but their masked heads turned to follow him as he entered through the heavy door. 

The first thing that hit him was the cold. It was as if an icy hand had gripped his heart and was squeezing the life out of it. Though he couldn’t explain how he knew - he could tell this was no natural chill. It was some kind of palpable residue from Snoke’s dark sorcery, and with it came a creeping sense of dread - insidious as the cold. It took all his bodily control to stop himself from visibly shivering. The look of the place did nothing to calm his nerves. The chamber was so massive he felt as if he were being crushed by its vastness. A wide, rail-lined bridge led across a great, gaping hole - the bottomless, mechanical guts of the ship disappearing into darkness. Ahead of him, the shiny black floor spread out, reflecting the dim light and the eerie glow of the red curtains that ringed the room. And there, at the far end of the chamber, seated in a massive throne, flanked on either side by more red armored guards, was the Supreme Leader. 

“Colonel Hux,” he said with a sneer, “welcome.” Though Snoke was smaller in person than he appeared in holograms, he was immeasurably more intimidating.

“Supreme Leader,” he faltered, falling into an awkward bow. “It’s an honor, Sir.”

“Get up,” said Snoke, his tone bemused. “Come here.”

Hux swallowed hard as he rose and came forward further. He tried not to think about the terror welling up in his belly, tried not to think about how grotesque the Supreme Leader’s face looked - disfigured far beyond what the holograms had betrayed, tried not to wonder if Snoke was man or alien.  _ I am clever and ruthless and confident _ , he thought as loudly as he could,  _ I am the Starkiller. I am destined for great things. _

“How is the progress on your Starkiller project, Colonel Hux?”

“It is preceding even better than expected, Supreme Leader,” Hux puffed out his chest and held his arms stiffly behind his back, “preparatory work on the planet’s surface - purging the more threatening local fauna, identifying the ideal locations to begin excavation - is nearly complete. At this rate, construction should begin ahead of schedule.” 

In truth, he had intentionally overestimated the time each stage of development would take, so as to ensure that he would have good news to report - or at least minimize the chances he would have to report bad news. It was a trick he had learned as a boy to minimize his father’s disappointment and the potential for beatings. It seemed to work as Snoke’s horribly lopsided mouth seemed to be smiling.

“Excellent. Excellent work, Colonel Hux. You may have a great career ahead of you, young man, despite your … rather unpromising origins.”

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.” Hux had long ago accepted that until he had real power, he would only ever be  _ great despite _ what he was, but it still stung. Someday he would be great, and there would be no  _ despite _ , no  _ unpromising origins _ . 

“When Starkiller Base is complete, it will need a commanding officer.”

This was it. Snoke was going to promote him here and now. His great destiny was almost here - real power was almost in his grasp.

“I sense your ambition, Colonel, your hunger. You burn with it.”

Was this praise or a reprimand? “Sir I-”

“It will serve you well, so long as you don’t let it get ahead of you.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader.”

“There is someone I would like you to meet,” Snoke said, an even more sinister note entering his voice. “Come forward now, my apprentice.”

Hux’s breath caught in his throat as a shadowy figure emerged from behind the throne. It was a man, he thought, a human man, a little taller than he was and much more sturdily built beneath his robes. His face was obscured by a mask.

“Colonel Hux, this is my apprentice, Kylo Ren. He has been serving the First Order from the shadows for some time now, but I believe it is nearly time to make his grand debut. Kylo Ren, this is Colonel Armitage Hux, a very promising young man who is building the Order a superweapon of unprecedented power. It is my intention that when Starkiller Base is complete, the two of you will share command.”

“I look forward to working with you.” Hux said stiffly, offering a hand for Kylo Ren to shake. He didn’t like the idea of sharing power, but what was the small hurdle of a shared command when he was being given the promotion he had longed for for years? 

The other man did not take the proffered hand.

“He is afraid, master,” said Kylo Ren. A vocoder disguised the character of his voice. “I can sense his cowardice from here, and his arrogance. His resentment. His schemes.” The masked head cocked to one side, and Hux felt unseen eyes burning into him. “I don’t trust him.”

Hux glanced up at the Supreme Leader, waiting for Snoke to say something in his favor - to say anything at all.

Suddenly the air wasn’t entering his lungs as it should - this throat felt tight, and grew tighter with every passing fraction of a second. His eyes grew wide and darted back to Kylo Ren, who was holding out a hand, black gloved fingers clenched in a fist. Hux grappled at his throat, as if he could physically pry the Force grip off of himself, but it was no use, there was nothing to pry loose. He was choking on nothing - his throat caving in of its own accord. Kylo Ren’s masked face went in and out of focus as he felt his feet lift off the floor. He was hanging, suspended in the air, legs kicking and straining uselessly. There were tears streaming down his face, running into his gaping mouth. He must look a mess - he couldn’t last much longer - this man was going to kill him - but the only thought his panicked mind could hold onto was that he must look a mess, crying and blubbering as he choked. This couldn't be it. Not now. The Supreme Leader had promised him command - greatness was so close, he had so much still to do.

“I think that’s quite enough.” Snoke spoke at last, raising a hand to stop his apprentice. 

The grip on his throat abruptly disappeared, and he fell back to the black tiled floor, barely able to catch himself on his hands and knees. His cap had come off, his hair hung into his eyes. Every gulp of air he pulled in burned the raw walls of his windpipe all the way down to his aching lungs.

“As I said,” the Supreme Leader went on, “it is my intention that the two of you will share command of Starkiller Base during its construction and after its completion. You have proven yourself exceptional,  _ General Hux _ , you have made yourself indispensable for now, and so long as you are useful, you will continue to grow your power - but never lose sight of what you are and where you come from. Be careful you do not choke on your pride.”

“Yes,” his face burned - with lack of oxygen - with shame. “Yes, Supreme Leader. Thank you, Supreme Leader.” 

_ I am General Armitage Hux,  _ he told himself, standing up on quaking legs to leave.  _ I am clever and ruthless and confident. I am the Starkiller. I am destined for great things. I come from nothing, I am worth nothing except what I make of myself. _

____  
  


Incipt Mining Offices, Two Months Before

Hux woke with a gasp, choking on consciousness. He could swear he could still feel the pressure of the Force on his throat, his chest tight with the lack of oxygen. But it was only Poe Dameron’s arm draped over him. The other man was sound asleep, his body bent slightly to fit against Hux’s, his arm over the general’s pale chest, one knee against the back of his thigh. Dameron’s head rested next to Hux’s shoulder, so close that his slow, heavy breathing ghosted warm and gentle over his skin. 

This was almost as jarring as the dream - the memory - had been. Hux had slept with his fair share of men, but he had never woken up beside one the next morning. Part of him wanted to linger here, under the covers with Poe Dameron’s warm body beside him - but if he did, he might lose himself - might never want to leave. So he sat up slowly, lifting the other man’s arm off of him and setting it back down gingerly as he checked the chrono on the wall - the local time was 06:30. Hours still before the negotiations were set to take place. Good. He would have to shower again before the meeting - wash away any traitorous trace from the previous night. 

As he pulled back on the papery thin pajama bottoms, Hux was caught off guard by a sharp, reproachful beep from the little droid. He had been so caught up in the fantasy last night that he had forgotten that the droid was even there. That realisation made the blood rise hot in his cheeks. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He hissed. “If Dameron has any sense at all he’ll have your memory wiped and you won’t have to dwell on this long.”

_ Either he’ll do it or I’ll do it myself with my blaster _ , he thought, stepping into the refresher, the door hissing shut behind him. 

Last night, it had all been so easy, so natural. For the first time his body felt like a body and not a weapon - like something soft and warm and organic, capable of pleasure as much pain. All his sharp edges were made smooth, and every nerve that had only ever known how to react in fear and agony had hummed with something else altogether. When he had lain in the afterglow, head against Dameron’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as the other man traced the bones of his back with a finger, it took all is mental energy to remember that this was not real - this was not his life, it was a dream, a fantasy. He could not stay in it forever. But oh, he wished he could. He had fought the heaviness of his eyelids, wanting the night to drag on as long as possible, knowing that he would have to return to reality in the morning. 

Now morning had come, the time for fantasies and flings was over. He studied his face in the mirror, bracing himself on the basin of the sink. His hair was a tousled mess, and his cheeks were still a little flushed, but he was undeniably himself.  _ You are General Armitage Hux _ , he reminded himself, glaring into his narrowed green eyes,  _ you’ve destroyed worlds and men to be where you are - you are the despised bastard son of a pathetic man, and you clawed and fought and killed your way to the edge of greatness. You are the only one who can save the galaxy, so pull yourself together, seal up the cracks and lock your weakness out before it infects you any further _ .  _ You had your taste of fun - your taste of happiness, but it's over now. It was never meant to last _ .  _ You’re meant for greater things _ .

He started, glancing away from his sullen reflection at the sound of a groan and a yawn from the other room. 

“Morning, Beebee-ate.” 

A furious series of beeps and trills.

“I know, I know I’m sorry. I know this was probably really stupid but -”

Another incomprehensible tirade of chirps.

“Oh come on, I don’t know if it’s  _ the  _ stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Hux sighed and kneaded his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Could you take your little argument back to your own room?” He snapped.

“Kicking me out of your bed already? Ouch.” His tone was as light as it had been last night.

“You need to go, Dameron. Take a shower, get ready for the meeting, pretend this never happened, wipe the droid’s memory for good measure.”

“Oh we’re back on a last name basis?” The other man scoffed. “You sure knew my first name last night.”

“I’m serious, Poe. This can’t get out, you understand. It would be disastrous. And not just for me.”

A dry laugh from the other room. “Don’t worry,” said Dameron, “I’m not going to go running back to the Resistance bragging about this either.” Was that hurt, underneath the mirth? Embarrassment?

The bathroom door hissed open and Dameron leaned in the threshold. He was dressed again, in his white pajamas, and lounged against the door frame, face relaxed as if he hadn’t a care in the galaxy.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask.” Hux frowned and crossed his arms over his bare, pale chest.

“What’s your plan? You and I are going to sit down and mediate negotiations together, get my X-Wing back from the natives and - what, then you’re just going to have crazy Mr. Vanus arrest me and call the First Order for a pickup?”

“Something like that.”

“Bantha shit.” Dameron scoffed, his gaze a steady, unyielding challenge. 

“I’m sorry?” Hux raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the contrast between the other man’s words and his nonchalant posture.

“You’re not actually going to do that. Come on, Hux, it’s a stupid plan - and you know it’s stupid. You want me to escape, don’t you? Deep down.”

“I most certainly do not!” Hux spat, anger rising in his throat, staining his cheeks an almost painful red. “We’ve had our fun, Dameron but do not think for a second that I’ve forgotten who you are - who I am - where both our loyalties lie.”

His eyes darted from Dameron back into the bedroom, searching for his parka - the blaster. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this -  _ what had he wanted it to come to?  _

“Looking for this?” Dameron reached into the waistband of his pajamas and produced Hux’s blaster pistol.

Hux gritted his teeth and cursed himself. How could he have allowed Dameron out of his sight even for a second? Perhaps he  _ had _ forgotten who they both were after all. Stupid. How could he have been so stupid? This is what he got for indulging in a fantasy, even for a night - even for a moment.

His face must have betrayed his mounting panic, because Dameron held up his hands in a gesture of goodwill and smiled. 

“Look, hey don’t freak out, okay? Calm down.”

“I would feel a lot calmer if you gave me back my blaster.”

“Can’t do that, Hux, sorry,” he said, and he did look sorry - or something like it. “Believe it or not, I’m actually trying to make this easier for you. I know you don’t really want to hand me over to the First Order, but I also know you can’t just let me go - I get that. So I’m escaping. I get my freedom and you get your pride. I’d call that a pretty good deal, wouldn’t you?”

“Why not sneak away in the night like the coward you are?” His lip curled into a vicious, bitter sneer. In a way Dameron was doing him a favor, bringing him back to reality more effectively than any scolding he could have given himself in the mirror.

The other man shrugged. “Honestly, I overslept. Also, I wanted to say goodbye.”

Why did the word  _ goodbye _ make emotion well up in the back of his throat like some kind of traitorous incoming tide?

“You…” he spat out the word but couldn’t finish the sentence - didn’t know how he would finish it -  _ you putrid, vile, subhuman rebel scum - you fucking bastard - you’re killing me - you can’t do this to me - you actually meant something to me, made me believe I meant something to you too, how could you?  _

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” Dameron’s mouth twisted at the corners, a grimace somewhere between a sad smile and a frown. “I came here to kill you but I - honestly I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to come back with me. I meant everything I said last night - I think there’s good in you, Armitage, and I think you could do real good, but I can’t force you. And the Resistance needs me. The galaxy needs me.” 

“What about the natives here? Don’t they need you? I thought you cared about their plight? Or did you organize these negotiations just so your droid could lead you back to where your ship is buried while they're busy?”

“I care,” Dameron insisted, “of course I do. But right now, the Resistance needs me more. My priority has to be getting out of here before your people show up. Besides,” he smiled at Hux and for the first time that morning it was genuine, and untempered by sadness, “they’re in good hands. I hate to say it but you were right before, the First Order has more sway than the Resistance right now,  _ you  _ have the power to influence those negotiations, whether or not I'm there. And I can’t believe I'm saying this but - I trust you to do the right thing.”

“A terrible idea.” Hux allowed a small smirk, even through his nerves and his heart hurt.

“Doesn’t have to be. I’m not asking you to do anything against your own interests. But using your power to help others - actually help them - it feels good. I think you’d like it - and I think you can do it.”

“You’re a fool, Dameron.” But his voice was softer than he meant for it to be.

“Yeah, probably,” he shrugged, “but I’m smarter than you think.”

He took a step forward and Hux retreated, bracing himself against the sink as he backed into it. Dameron reached out with the hand not holding the blaster, reached for Hux’s hand, but the general yanked it away, and shrunk further against the sink. The balance of power had tipped firmly against him now, and he felt smaller than he had in days.

“Don’t.” He hissed through bared teeth, a cornered animal giving one final warning before it lashed out.

“Fine,” Dameron’s arm returned limply to his side. “You hate me right now, don’t you?”

“I’m certainly not feeling fond of you at the moment.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Look,” he glanced back and waved the droid into the bathroom with them. “I’ve been thinking - this doesn’t have to end here.”

“What?”

“Beebee-ate, give me the thing,” he held out his hand and the droid produced a small black device from a compartment on its round body. “This,” Dameron said, holding out the device, “is a closed circuit two-way comm. Untraceable, undetectable. The other one’s back in my ship.”

Hux’s brow creased in confusion - “You’re giving me this? Why?”

“So you can call me, obviously. Or I can call you. Whatever.”

“Why?”

“Use your imagination. Maybe we could figure out a way to get marooned on an ice planet again. Or maybe we can mix it up, do a desert next time. Maybe it’s time to go back to Jakku.” He grinned that terrible, bright grin of his. “You didn’t think I was the kind of guy who’d get you into bed and then run off, did you?”

“Actually that’s exactly the kind of man I thought you were.”

Dameron came closer again, and this time Hux didn’t shy away. Somewhere, under his rage and his feelings of betrayal, he was relieved. Poe Dameron would still have to die before this war was over - but not just yet - and perhaps that was alright.

“You’re a scoundrel Poe Dameron.” He shook his head, a sneer ghosting over his lips.

“Yeah but you like that.”

Hux scoffed but didn’t say anything to deny it.

The droid made a sound that could only be described as the auditory equivalent of an exasperated eye-roll.

“So,” Dameron tossed the comm and caught it again, “what are the chances of me getting a kiss for goodluck?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Hux turned his face away. His anger and panic were fading but he still had his pride. He was not kissing the man who was currently holding him at gunpoint - and with his own stolen blaster at that.

“Fine, fine. Maybe next time we see each other then.”

“You had better hope there isn’t a next time.”

“Oh I’m counting on it.” He chuckled, and took a step back. Hux almost resented him for it. “I’ll leave it here.” He said, resting the little comm on the sink beside Hux. “You can decide if you want to hold onto it when you wake up.”

“When I wh-” But Hux never finished his sentence - Poe fired the blaster -  _ his blaster _ \- and a blue stun bolt hit him before he even realized what was happening. The last thing he saw was Dameron reaching out to ease him down to the bathroom floor.

“Take care, General. Don’t go getting yourself killed before we talk again.” 

There was that stupid grin, and then blackness took him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very late because I took a break to focus on Gingerpilot week, but I hope it was worth the wait! I have such things in store for you all in upcoming chapters!!!

_The Finalizer_ , Three Months Before

Before the ship was retired for good, General Hux insisted he be allowed to walk through it one more time. They said the _Finalizer_ was irreparably crippled after the battle of Batuu. Hux knew that was a lie. True, the ship had taken serious damage in the battle, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with time and money - both of which the First Order could have spared. No, this was no practical decision, it was a calculated maneuver - to strip him of his power in a palpable way - to cow him and clip his wings. Hux had to admit it was a clever move - too clever for Ren to have come up with himself. 

Who among the Supreme Council had planted the idea in the new Supreme Leader’s head? He suspected General Pryde - Allegiant General Pryde now, though the made up title made his blood boil even to think. Pryde had known Hux since he was a child and despised him for every moment. He had resented every accolade, every victory and promotion the younger man had won - considered them all unearned. How he must be enjoying watching Hux’s fall from grace, first Starkiller, then Crait, now Batuu. The prodigy of the First Order - the man who made the rank of general before he was thirty, who destroyed a star system with a word, was revealing himself to be nothing more than a child out of his depth - the son of a kitchen woman, wearing the clothes of a general. Hux imagined Pryde’s satisfied smirk, imagined him whispering cruel things to his fellow old imperials - _and so the natural order is restored, the bastard is back in his place._

He felt sick.

But Pryde was wrong - just like his father had been wrong, and Brooks and Snoke and Cardinal. They all underestimated him, and they all died - his father dissolving in a bacta tank, Brooks, dying on the floor from his flurry of blaster fire, Snoke by Kylo Ren’s hand, Cardinal put down on Batuu after turning traitor (why did that last one make his heart twinge?). He had outlived all of them and he would outlive Pryde too, and Kylo Ren. He could wait, swallow his pride and play the part of the broken beast. All the while he’d be watching, waiting, planning his revenge. He had waited this long for power, what was a little longer?

But it was hard to be patient when it was his ship being taken from him. 

He walked down the hall of the executive wing. He had tread this way so often his feet could have found their way in his sleep. His quarters were at the far end of the hall - the largest set of rooms, reserved for the ship’s commanding officer. 

He had worried Kylo Ren would try and vie for the suite when he came aboard all those years ago, but he never did. He didn't want to stay in the executive wing at all, and took a small sparse room deep in the bowels of the ship. Some kind of religious asceticism, Hux suspected, though how Ren with his spare, harsh tastes and Snoke with his gold robes and lavish throne room could belong to the same order he would never understand and didn't care to. Truth be told he had felt relieved to have Kylo Ren far away from where he slept. He wasn't sure it did any good, but he hoped that distance would keep his dreams from the Force-user’s prying reach. Maybe it was only an illusion of safety - maybe it never mattered at all - but it had helped him sleep at night.

The door to his quarters hissed open as he approached, recognizing him by the code strips in the rank stripes on his sleeve. The interior of the rooms were plain, identical to the quarters he kept on the _Absolution_ and the ones he had had on the _Supremacy_ . All First Order standard issue, except for the ice blue sofa. He even kept his conservator stocked with the same stimdrinks and his liquor cabinet with the same vintages. It was easier that way, less jarring when things were busy and he was constantly traveling between ships. It never mattered where he laid his head down to sleep, he always knew exactly where everything was when he woke up. It was his own kind of devout asceticism, a ritual to the religion of order. But there was one thing that was different about his quarters on the _Finalizer_ \- one thing that he could trust only to the ship he commanded - _had commanded_ \- he corrected himself bitterly. 

He made his way to his desk - the desk from which he had ordered countless attacks and where he had drafted plans for Starkiller Base. He glanced at the computer console - it had already been backed up and wiped. He kept no real secrets on that computer - privacy was a dangerous illusion to entertain on the First Order’s HoloNet. No, the real secrets were hidden in the top right drawer of the desk, locked with his thumbprint and under a false bottom. He removed a glove and knelt beside the drawer, unlocking it and removing the contents of the main compartment -an outdated datapad and charging doc, a beckon call for a shuttle long ago destroyed - so he could get to the bottom and pry it loose. 

Hux didn’t have much in the way of personal effects - they were frivolous things and growing attached to them invited the possibility of unnecessary emotional distress. One never knew when one would have to make a quick exit and leave everything behind. He had learned that lesson a long time ago on that last, rainy Arkanis night.

Brendol Hux had filled his quarters with belongings - shelves of pilfered artifacts and decanters of expensive liquors. His quarters had always been nauseatingly overrich, all shades of deep brown more suited for a hunting lodge than a star destroyer. When the old man died, the younger Hux had had all those precious artifacts incinerated, ensuring that every trace of Brendol Hux was wiped away. Possessions were a poor legacy - easily destroyed. Only deeds lasted. 

Still, Armitage Hux had a few things he counted precious. They were small - easy to pack up and take in a hurry - and he kept them safe in his drawer where they couldn’t be stolen or used to compromise him. A small, smooth stone from the shore of Arkanis - he hadn’t meant to take it with him, it had been in the pocket of one of the pairs of trousers Deedee had packed for him when they left and he had carried it with him for years afterwards, rubbing it smooth with anxious fingers as they fled deeper and deeper into the Unknown Regions. He didn’t carry it with him anymore, embarrassed to have something so sentimental as a good luck trinket, but he kept it here, safe and close, a piece of a home he did not remember well enough to miss. Beside it, a small, matte silver disk - an official Chiss Credit that had somehow found its way out of the Ascendancy and into the till of a bar on a desolate planet deep in the Unknown Regions. He had never met a Chiss - though he had always wanted to - but it reminded him that there was more to the galaxy than the horrors he had experienced. When he was Grand Marshall - or better yet, Supreme Leader, perhaps he would pay a visit to Chiss space - forge the alliance no galactic government had been able to achieve before. Beside it was the glimmering husk of a Parnassos beetle, wrapped in cloth for safekeeping, and, most precious and secret of all, the rank tiles of a grand admiral. 

Rae Sloane had given it to him before she left for the mission from which she had never returned. He had never known her to take her tiles off - even when the Empire that had awarded them to her was long gone. At the time, he thought it must be because she was going undercover - though why she would give such a precious thing to a fifteen year old cadet for safekeeping was beyond him. Now he wondered if she had known that she would not be coming back. 

  
  


“Don’t you lose this,” she had said, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze, “hold onto it like your life depends on it - someday it might.” The smile on her lips made it seem like she was joking, but there was something else in her eyes - something deadly serious.

“Yes sir,” he’d said, thrilled to be entrusted with something so important to her. “How long do you expect to be gone, Grand Admiral?”

She had sighed, adjusting the band that held back her thick, greying hair. “I don’t know, Cadet Hux. It depends. Hopefully not for long, but it could be. However long it is, I’m counting on you to keep things in order while I’m gone. Keep your father in line, alright? And don't let him get to you. Be patient and be clever and soon you'll be more powerful than he could dream of being.”

“Thank you sir.” He rose, sensing it was time for him to go.

“And Armitage?” She had spoken up again, just as he was poised to leave her office.

“Yes sir?”

“You’ve been an exceptional boy - since the day I met you when you were five years old. You were so scared, so alone in the galaxy, but so brave despite it all,” there was an odd, thin quality to her voice that he had never heard before. “I was scared too. And alone. I couldn't have done this without you. You’ll go far. I know you will. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you sir.” He hadn’t known what else to say - no one had ever said those words to him before - _I’m proud of you_.

“Now run along, cadet, and put that somewhere safe until I get back.”

That was the last thing she had ever said to him. She never returned from her mission, never reclaimed her rank tiles. Often in the months that followed, Armitage had laid awake, turning the insignia over and over in his hands, wondering what it meant. He had never known Rae Sloane to be sentimental - she wouldn’t give him something like this without reason. But he looked it over again and again, searched for some hidden writing, or a seam in the metal. There was nothing. If she had left him some clue or secret message it was beyond him just as she was now.

As he removed it from the drawer in his quarters on the _Finalizer_ , he ran his fingers over the familiar tiles, trying to bite back the useless sentiment that rose in his throat. What would he give to have Sloane’s guidance now? If she were here Kylo Ren would never have been able to rise to power - Pryde would never be strutting around with his make believe Allegiant General title. She would know what to do - how to make the Order make sense again. _I’m sorry Grand Admiral_ he thought, cradling the insignia in his hands - one gloved the other bare. _I’m sorry I couldn’t steer the First Order right, I’m sorry I failed you. You put your trust and your pride in me and I did nothing but lose._ He sat all the way down on the floor and leaned against the desk, pulling his knees up to his chest. _You were wrong about me, Grand Admiral, I’m not exceptional, I never have been, but you were right about one thing - I was scared, and alone when you met me, and I still am._

___

Incipt Mining Offices, Two Months Before

_Take care, General,_ Poe Dameron had said. _Don’t go getting yourself killed before we talk again._

It was real, wasn’t it? It really had happened? 

Yes. 

And his lips had spread in a smile.

His lips. Those were real too. Hux still remembered what they felt like against his own - they really had kissed. They had done far more than that. 

A vague memory of hands on skin - 

The rush of wind that accompanies a fall - rushing and rushing past him, through his hair, tearing the breath from his lungs. 

The warm kiss of sun on flesh - reaching everywhere, a cleansing heat, a filling heat - his head tilting back as waves of warmth brought cold corpse limbs to life -

It was as if he were falling but there was no ground to break his fall - just wind forever - ever since he crash landed on this strange planet.

And then Poe Dameron had left. He had shot Hux - stunned him. If only he had shot to kill, rather than leaving him alone without his warmth - 

No. No, he wanted to live. With or without Poe Dameron - he had work to do. So much work to do. 

And Dameron wasn’t really leaving him -

_You didn’t think I was the kind of guy who’d get you into bed and then run off, did you?_

He had given Hux a comm. He wasn’t going to use it. No. He was going to move on with his life. Poe Dameron was his enemy. He had shot him - stunned him. That was why his mind was wandering like this -

How long had he been falling - the wind rushing past him as he plummeted deeper and deeper into his own mind -

But he felt himself returning to himself now. Someone was calling his name - a droid

_Deedee?_

No, she was long gone, too long ago to have ever called him ‘General Hux’.

It was the chrome plated protocol droid that found him. After stunning him, Dameron had tied him to the sink with his own filthy uniform tunic. Hux couldn’t help but smirk at that, even as the droid and later Mr Vanus simpered and apologized. The Resistance Pilot had done well staging his escape. The little comm was still sitting on the bowl of the sink. Hux slipped it into a pocket - telling himself he could always throw it away later.

“General Hux, you must accept our sincerest apologies,” Mr. Vanus met Hux outside his room after he had recovered and dressed himself, “Poe Dameron’s escape was a terrible mistake on our part.” 

“Indeed it was, Mr. Vanus. A terrible and embarrassing mistake.” He held his arms stiff behind his back as he walked, the white Incipt Mining jumpsuit fastened to his chin. “I observed that the doors of those quarters could be locked only from the outside. I cannot help but wonder why Poe Dameron’s door was not locked. He was a prisoner of the First Order, he should have been secured.”

“And I cannot apologize enough, General Hux sir, really. It was only - you must forgive me - after yesterday, I assumed you and Dameron had some kind of accord - or else of course I would have -”

“That was not your assumption to make, Mr. Vanus!” Hux snapped. It felt good to snap, to pull rank and make another man feel small. It had been too long since he had last held that kind of power. “But perhaps this situation can be salvaged - tell me, are your people tracking him? With the storm on the surface I can hardly imagine he’s gotten far.”

Vanus grimaced. “Well - sir - you see - while you were stunned- and I’m sorry it took us so long to realize you were incapacitated, only we wanted to respect your privacy sir - but while you were unconscious, the storm seems to have - well it’s passed, General. Dameron and his droid were able to retrieve his ship and get offworld while the locals were distracted preparing for our meeting. The locals are simple beings, General Hux, all the more reason they should not be allowed to-”

“That's enough, Mr. Vanus!” Hux cut him off. _Well done Dameron,_ he thought despite himself, _live a little longer you brave, foolish man_. “I have no interest in your excuses or your attempts to shift blame. Why, I have half a mind to have this whole wretched planet depopulated and strip mined for every last ounce of duralium. The First Order has no use for an incompetent, paranoid wreck of a mine operator.”

“Please, General, forgive-”

“The First Order does not forgive, Mr Vanus,” Hux pronounced each word with the cool, clipped accent his father had used when he talked down to someone. It was the voice he had used often when he talked to others of Armitage - _I have yet to find anything Armitage is not utterly useless at_ , he would say, every syllable a knife. “If Supreme Leader Ren had any idea what happened here, you would die - and slowly.”

At the mention of Kylo Ren, Mr Vanus’s face blanched. Hux knew he would never instill that kind of visceral terror in people, but that was fine with him. He was content to leverage the names of those who did. 

“Still, I might be convinced to give a more flattering report when I contact the First Order…” He let his voice trail off just so - a lifeline, just out of reach. 

“Please, General Hux, sir, please I beg you -” 

If he were groveling any more pathetically he would be kissing Hux’s thin, papery slippers. Fear was a good tool indeed - useful when applied delicately, with just enough pressure to get results but carefully so as not to provoke resentment. Using fear correctly was a skill few could manage. Kylo Ren, for all the fear he inspired, had never learned how to apply it correctly. He used fear like he used the force - too hard, too often, and too much on his supposed allies. He needed someone like Hux to guide him, and the fact he could not see it would be his downfall. Hux understood fear like he understood breathing.

“You will be my man, Mr. Vanus, you will obey me without question. You don’t know anything to be true unless I say it is, do you understand?”

Vanus nodded obediently. 

“Very good. I will use your comms to make a report to my colleagues in the First Order. I shall tell them you did everything in your power to apprehend Dameron, just as you did everything in your power to rescue me from the rogues that kidnapped me. Though I brought Dameron here bound and subdued, he still managed to escape, do you understand?”

“Yes sir, General Hux.”

“Excellent. Perhaps this could be a profitable arrangement for the both of us. I will make the call from a conference room, take me to one.”

“Of course, General.”

They had reached the end of the hall and entered the lift. Mr. Vanus pressed a button for several floors up. With Poe Dameron gone and his ship with him, he no longer had a reason to argue on the natives’ behalf. Indeed, if the First Order was to use these mines, it would be far more advantageous to let Mr. Vanus expand to his heart’s content, perhaps even replace the current laborforce with droids or slaves. 

His fingers found the small round comm in his pocket and traced over it. _I’m not asking you to do anything against your own interests_ , Dameron had said before running off, _but using your power to help others - actually help them - it feels good_ _I think you’d like it - and I think you can do it._ He had given worse, crueler orders without a second thought. Would no doubt do so again a hundred times over in his lifetime. It would be easy to dismiss what the other man had said as sentiment or some foolish attempt to influence him - and perhaps it was both those things - but part of him hesitated nonetheless. He had no love for this planet or its natives, and certainly no love for Poe Dameron (other feelings perhaps - feelings which he would have to deal with lest they fester into something deeper - but not love), but there was some wisdom in keeping his word to the natives. Keeping Vanus in his pocket was paramount, but that did not mean keeping him happy. His obedience needed to be tested, after all, and what better way to test a man than to force him to compromise his own desires? If he was willing to obey Hux when it came to respecting the local warrens, he could be expected to obey him in other ways going forward. And there was more wisdom in keeping the native populace happy, and the mine conditions safe. A compromise - one which kept everyone on the planet reasonably happy - was the best way to ensure there were no large scale conflicts that would compromise mine productivity. 

Yes, there were good reasons to work out this compromise with or without Poe Dameron or his ship here as part of the negotiations. This was his choice, it was consistent with who he knew himself to be - clever and pragmatic and cruel - he had not changed. His self was safe.

The lift doors opened with a hiss to another sterile white hallway.

“Mr. Vanus,” he said as they stepped out of the lift.

“Yes sir, General Hux?”

“While I make my report to the First Order you will contact the natives - tell them there is no longer a need for a meeting. The terms of your new contract with them will be as follows: your mines will not expand into their warrens without explicit written and witnessed consent. Every time you do expand, you will compensate the displaced people with the funds necessary to dig new warrens elsewhere. The conditions inside your mines will have to change as well. As they are, they’re more fit for a prison camp than a functioning mining facility. Highly inefficient. You will need better machinery, better safety equipment for your miners, and certainly better reinforcements on your shafts. As it stands you’re one quake away from complete collapse.”

“General Hux, please, I must protest-” Mr. Vanus’s face strained with the obvious effort to suppress his rage. 

“On the contrary, Mr. Vanus, you must do exactly as I say. Those were the terms of our agreement.”

“But sir, the profits - all of this will cost -”  
“I’m sure cost will be no obstacle to you now that you are poised to be the only duralium mine in the system and enjoy the full patronage of the First Order.”

That tempered the older man’s expression a little. Men like Vanus made good pawns, Hux thought, men whose greed made them predictable, even dependable, whose vices served as leashes to lead them.

“Will you do as I ask, Mr. Vanus?”

“Of course, General.” A resigned but not embittered nod.

“Excellent. It is time for this planet to progress into the modern age. Time for Incipt Mining to see its first era of prosperity since the Clone Wars.”

The hungry glimmer was back in Vanus’s eye, as if he were already staring into the future Hux was promising.

“This is our best conference room,” Mr. Vanus said as they approached another polished durasteel door that hissed open upon their approach. “There is a comm built into the table. I hope this will suit your purposes?”

“It will do just fine.” Hux said, striding inside and taking a seat at the head of the long table. 

The room, like everything else in this facility, was gleamingly white and sterile as a medbay. The smell of disuse and scented cleaning product hung thick in the air.

“You may go, Mr. Vanus. Pass along what I just told you to the locals. I will be speaking with them later to ensure that you do.”

“Of course, General Hux,” Vanus said, his lips still tight with distaste for what Hux was making him do, but his posture was submissive. He would obey. 

As the door slid shut again behind the older man, Hux took a moment to sit and compose himself. He folded his hands on long white table nd studied its surface. It was polished clean enough to serve as a mirror, reflecting the General’s face back at him as he tried to get his thoughts in order. 

He looked more like himself than he had in days, though the hollows in his cheeks had grown dark and the absence of hair gel meant his hair was more light and easily disturbed than he liked it. The change of clothes was jarring too. Even in tatters his uniform had looked more natural on him than this white jumpsuit. He could not remember the last time he had worn anything but his uniform except to sleep or exercise. He certainly could not remember the last time he’d worn white. It didn’t suit him - it leached what little color was left in his sickly, pale cheeks until he seemed to match the fabric. 

If Dameron were here he’d make some joke about it - _you look like a ghost, Hugs,_ he’d say with a grin, _did you die in your sleep without me noticing?_ But there would be a softness to smile - a warmness. For all his quips about Hux’s appearance, he wasn’t cruel. The way he touched him - gently, as if his body were not some disappointing aberration, or a punching bag to take one's frustration out upon, but something special, something worth caring for - it was a strange and alien thing. How anyone could look at him - bony and pale and weak - and feel anything other than disgust was beyond him.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about Poe Dameron right now. _I am General Hux of the First Order. I am clever and ruthless and confident. I am not beaten or broken or changed. I am alone but I am not afraid. I will not give Pryde or Kylo Ren the satisfaction of my fear._ He was ready.

A knock at the door startled him just as he was about to make the call.

“Stars, can’t a man get some privacy in this place?” He snapped, “what is it?”

“Apologies for the interruption, General Hux,” it was the protocol droid again. “I was ordered to bring you some caf for your call.”

Vanus must have sent the droid to spy on him - to see if he was on the call yet and what he was saying. But caf did sound good.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “Yes please, thank you.”

He knew by the grainy, acrid taste of it that it was some cheap instant brew, but he drank it enthusiastically all the same, feeling some of the fog lift off of his brain. 

“This caf has been tested for over seven million varieties of poison, and has been determined to be safe.” The droid declared in its tinny voice.

“I should hope so.” Hux said dryly. “Now go, please. Leave me.”

He waited until the door hissed shut and and the droid’s heavy footfalls retreated down the hall before he finally steeled himself with a final breath, and entered the comm signature for the _Steadfast_.

“This is the First Order ship _Steadfast_ ,” the clipped female voice of a comms officer greeted him but no face appeared (it was standard First Order comms protocol to answer all communications with audio only until they were verified - he was glad they were keeping to it). “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is General Hux,” he said, “I wish to speak to Allegiant General Pryde at once.”

“Oh!” The startled face of the comms officer flickered into view as soon as Hux mentioned his name. She was a young woman, with short-cropped hair slicked back beneath her cap. He was glad to see relief in her eyes. There were still some among the crew who respected him, even liked him, at least as compared to Ren.

“General Hux, sir! The First Order is pleased to hear you are safe. A shuttle was sent in the direction of your location as soon as news reached us of your capture. Are you still in enemy hands, Sir?”

“No,” Hux shook his head carefully so as not to disturb his un-gelled hair. “I escaped capture, unfortunately so did Poe Dameron. To that end, I would like to speak to the Allegiant General.”

“Of course Sir, right away sir.” Her head bobbed in a sharp nod and then flickered out of sight.

A long pause followed, during which Hux checked his reflection in the table. His hair was still neat, his face still composed and inscrutable. Pryde would find him unshakeable and prepared. 

Suddenly the holoprojector flickered back to life, but it was not Allegiant General Pryde’s face that met his. It was the masked face of Kylo Ren.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux choked on his words. 

“General Hux.”

He felt the room get colder, his white jumpsuit suddenly woefully thin. Ren’s power had increased - he wasn’t sure how, but he felt it. “I called to speak to Allegient Genera Pryde, but all the better you were available, sir -”

“Silence!” Ren barked, and Hux felt the room crackle with energy, conjured up from untold lightyears away. “Where is Poe Dameron?”

The bottom dropped out of Hux’s stomach. He had been prepared for Pryde’s wrath, prepared for his cold, mocking stare, to be called a disappointment, a failure - but this - he was not prepared for this.

“Unfortunately, Supreme Leader, Dameron escaped. But I -”

His face hit the table before he had time to react. His nose made contact first. He felt it break - felt blood clogging his nostrils and spilling down, gagged on the copper taste as it dripped into his panting mouth. His ears were filled with a deafening ringing. The impact had forced tears from his eyes too - he wiped them away with the back of a hand as he righted himself. It took a moment for the pain to break through the initial shock of impact, but when it did it was almost unbearable. He had to fight down a whimper that rose in his throat.

 _I will not give him the satisfaction of my fear_ , he reminded himself, _I am not broken or beaten._

“This is an unacceptable failure, General Hux. First you allow yourself to be captured - waste the First Order’s time on a rescue, then you lose Poe Dameron. I should recall that shuttle and leave you stranded on that rock. You’re a waste of the fuel it will take to bring you back.”

“Sir, please,” he spoke, his voice distorted by the broken nose. “I understand losing Dameron was an inexcusable failure. I did all I could, but he struck in the night, overpowered me with my own blaster,” he made himself small as he spoke, crumpling into himself more and more with every syllable. It wouldn’t save him - Kylo Ren wasn’t his father in a drunken rage - he didn’t miss, no matter how small a target Hux made himself. “But I’ve secured us something else, Supreme Leader, something that will serve the First Order for decades to come. A duralium mine, sir, one I estimate will be incredibly fruitful under our control. I also have evidence of a conspiracy - the one that led to my and Dameron’s kidnapping - I have the names of the conspirators, and the location of their homeworld, also rich in duralium - we can strip-mine it and -”

His face hit the table again. This time, he was just prepared enough to turn his head sparing his already broken nose. He felt the skin split open above his left temple. There was no delay in the pain on this second strike. He felt it immediately, and bit back a cry.

“I thought this disaster you got yourself in to might at least mean we would capture Poe Dameron, but you’ve shown me again how useless you are. What is the point of you, General Hux?”

_I am not broken or beaten. I will never be broken or beaten._

“This has not been a complete failure, Supreme Leader.” He sat up again, and met the Supreme Leader’s gaze head on, the gleam in his eye defiant despite everything. “These mines are fruitful, the duralium they will provide will build us fleets of ships - new superweapons. This unfortunate situation will not be a loss for the Order,” he said, “you have my word.” His voice was steady, sure and confident even through the mess of blood in his nose and mouth 

Something in the other man’s demeanor did still, if not soften. He might still kill Hux, but not yet. “Send your exact coordinates. The shuttle will reach you by the end of this rotation. The _Steadfast_ is currently two days' flight from your location. You have that long to produce a memo detailing your plans for these mines you’ve found. Explain to me why you haven’t proven yourself to be a waste of space in my Order.”

“Thank you, Supreme Leader,” he bowed his head, a drop of blood falling from his nose to the table. “You will not regret this.”

“See that I don’t.”

And with that, the holoprojector flickered and went dead. 

He was alone in the room. Only now did he allow himself to shake, allowed his arms to wrap around to grip one another across his body,holding himself together. He couldn’t leave the room and face Mr. Vanus looking this way, so he sat there in the silence of the bright white room, trying to find some semblance of composure. His power might be conditional and unstable within the First Order, but it must not appear so here.

Kylo Ren would pay for this. Perhaps not now, perhaps not for years, but he would pay. Hux would put the First Order right again - put the whole galaxy right again. He would be the exceptional person Sloane had seen in him if it took him the rest of his life and made enemies out of every one of his peers.

A soft chirp from his pocket. It was the comm - the comm Poe Dameron had given him.

He snatched the little thing out of his pocket and held it up, as if it were some precious delicate object. He shouldn't speak to Poe Dameron. He wasn’t sure he _could_ speak at all,not without his voice breaking. But reality was crushing in around him, bleak and chaotic. The little glowing button was like a beacon in the blackness of space. It was a lifeline. 

He accepted the communication but said nothing.

“This is Commander Poe Dameron of the Republic fleet,” the familiar voice washed warm and safe over him, “I have an urgent communication for General Hugs. You know, skinny guy, kind of pasty, cute though, but don’t tell him I said so.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful kudos and comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Things might be changing with the boys going back to their respective sides for the time being, but one thing is definitely a constant in this story - angst >:)

Incipt Mining Offices, Two Months Before

“Poe-” his voice tumbled out, broken between his bloody lips before he could stop it. “You imbecile, I can’t believe you made it!” He sounded altogether more relieved than he meant to. He shouldn’t feel relieved. None of this would have happened to him if Poe Dameron hadn’t escaped.

“Hey,” the other man’s voice was warm through the static of the comm. “What happened? You sound … off.”

Hux bit back a curse - he should have kept quiet. 

“The Supreme Leader did not take kindly to your escape.” He said simply. “But he was merciful. I’m alive, after all.”  _ For now _ , he added silently.

“Shit, Hux, I’m sorry,” and it sounded like he meant it.

Still, Hux bit out his reply harshly through blood and the threat of tears. “No you aren’t. You did what any sane being would do - you saved yourself. I would have done the same if I was in your place.”

“Still.”

“I’ll live.”  _ Probably. _ “Have you made contact with your rebel friends to let them know you survived your little vigilante mission?”

“Yeah. They’re not thrilled. ‘Specially since I didn’t even manage to take you out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get me next time.” He said with a half-smirk. “Is it another demotion for you then? Should I start calling you Captain Dameron again?”

“Nah, but they’ve grounded me for the next standard month. Have me training new recruits.”

“Stars, there’s still people willing to join your little Resistance?” That brought a sneer to Hux’s lips. The cut on his temple protested as the expression reached his eyes.

“Yeah, and we didn’t even have to kidnap them.”

“I could throw this thing away, you know.”

“You won’t.”

This time, Hux succeeded in saying nothing.

After a long pause Dameron added: “Just say the word, and I’ll get you out of there. I’ll figure out a way.”

Hux chuckled bitterly, wiping a little blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Your blind foolishness is really very endearing, Dameron. It’ll be the death of you some day, but it is quite sweet.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do. You mean everything you say, even when you know it’s impossible. And you know it’s impossible, just as you know I’d never ask for it.”

A staticy sigh. “Fair enough.”

“So what happens now?” Hux asked, fearing the answer even as the question left his bloodied lips. 

A pause. 

“I don’t know. We talk I guess. See how that goes. Until the next time.” 

_ There he is again _ , Hux thought,  _ promising the impossible _ . There would be no next time, he suspected. Poe would die, or he would, or most likely of all, this thing they had would lose its pull and they would simply drift apart. And then the war would take its course.

“Until the next time.” He repeated Dameron’s words, more for the novelty of tasting them than anything. “I should be going. But you should know - I spoke to Mr. Vanus - he won’t be giving the natives any more trouble.”

That provoked a real, warm, bark of a laugh from Dameron. “I can’t believe it! You actually came through!” He exclaimed. “I knew there was a decent man in there somewhere! How’d you do it?”

“You sound very surprised for someone who said just this morning that he ‘knew’ I could do it,” Hux said coolly. 

“I did know,” Dameron protested, “but it’s still - you know - it’s  _ you _ .”

“It is.” Hux allowed. “At any rate it was really quite easy to get Vanus to acquiesce.” A note of pride entered his voice despite himself, a little of the straightness returning to his hunched spine. “This might shock you, Dameron but this isn’t my first time playing negotiator.”

“So what was it - lies, threats, or bribery?” 

“Oh, a bit of all three,” he mused, leaning back ever so slightly in his seat, the tension in his joints easing infinitesimally, “mostly the latter two.”

“Nothing wrong with some aggressive negotiations,” said the other man. “Especially when it’s for a good cause. You did the right thing, Hugs.”

“I told you not to call me that,” chided Hux, though he was smirking - feeling a warmth spreading again through his cold, crumpled-in body, “and if I were you I might not be so quick to celebrate. All the duralium in these mines is now sole property of the First Order.”

“More things for me to blow up later.” A chuckle. 

Hux imagined the way he must be smiling as that sound left his lips - his head tipped back slightly, easily, so that his dark hair fell back from his forehead. He wondered if there was room in the tight cockpit of Dameron’s X-Wing for the pilot to sit the way he did when he was at ease - all languid and spread out. 

“Really though, You did a good thing today. You helped people. Remember that. Remember that’s something you can choose to do.” There was a terrible earnestness in his voice, as if he were almost pleading with Hux to be someone else - someone better, with whom this thing might actually work - someone Armitage Hux was not and could never be.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself” he replied with a sigh. “At any rate, I really do have to go.”

“Until the next time, Armitage,” said Poe.

“Until the next time.” 

He shut off the comm and lingered a moment longer in the room, wiping as much of the blood off his face as possible. He felt the heat leaching back out of his body again, but it still left him warmer and steadier than he had been. 

He hated this warmth that came with talking to Poe Dameron. It felt as if the other man were unraveling him - stripping every protective layer he had donned to survive. It seemed like kindness - this undressing of him - but that wasn’t really what it was. Bitterly, Hux thought -  _ he’s looking for a good person in you - he’s looking for your heart _ . But he wouldn’t find a good person. Hux had long ago chosen doing good over being good. His work meant he had to do terrible things for a good cause. And if Dameron wanted a heart - there was not much there either. The other man would strip him down to nothing, and find only a pathetic creature deep in a fetid pit of shame. 

What then? What would happen when he realized what Hux truly was - what he always had been? He would hate him. It would be the natural order reasserting itself - they had always hated each other - he had always understood that. But he didn’t think he could bear it if Dameron hated him more than he hated Dameron - if the other man lost interest first and left him stumbling, wanting and alone. 

He tucked the comm away, back in his pocket. Perhaps it would be the wiser, kinder thing to throw it away now, save them both the trouble of re-learning to hate one another - but he could not do it - not just yet. He needed something to hold onto - something to steady himself at least until he got back to the Order.

The shuttle came for him as promised before the end of the cycle. Mr. Vanus did not want to risk accompanying Hux to the planet’s surface to meet it.  _ Who knows what could be up there? Who might be waiting to strike?  _ He had insisted, his wide, paranoid eyes gleaming in the dim light of his office. Instead he sent the general up with an escort of the protocol droid and the mine’s foreman - one of the insectoid aliens so tall they practically had to double over to fit in the lift. Hux suspected this had been a calculated choice, the droid as Vanus’s spy, and the foreman as proof to Hux that he had kept his word. They made a strange trio - the alien clad in their grubby mining attire, the pristine droid, the clean but haggard Hux. 

For the first two floors, they ascended in silence, and then at last the foreman spoke up - their voice as strange and lyrical as the others of the species Hux and Dameron had encountered.

“General Hux,” they said, mandibles rubbing nervously before their mouth, “if it would not be inappropriate, I would like to thank you for what you have done here.”

“That would be inappropriate,” the droid chided, “the General did not ask for your input.”

“No,” Hux cut in, his voice still garbled from the broken nose. “It’s alright, go on.”

“Thank you General,” the foreman said, “you have been a great help to us. These mines are as important to our people as the warrens themselves, but lately they had become dangerous, destructive. We needed an advocate, and there you came, delivered to us from above.”

It took Hux a moment to compose his thoughts. In all his years of service, doing work he knew was for the greater good of the galaxy, he did not think he had ever been thanked - at least not genuinely, by anyone. He couldn't care less about these beings, he reminded himself, or the mines. This was all to secure profit and duralium for the Order, and yet it did make his heart twinge warm for once.

“This is what the First Order is -” he said at last, not sure if he was lying or not, “restoring Order and justice to the galaxy.”

“Then we are in debt to the great First Order.” The forman crossed two sets of legs over their chest.

_ Indeed you are _ , thought Hux, killing a sneer before it could spread across his face,  _ indeed you are.  _

The lift doors slid open on the surface level docking area above the mining offices. It was a small paved space, mostly buried under snow so it appeared as little more than an especially flat clearing. The first thing that struck Hux was the blinding light. The sun had well and truly freed itself from the clouds and it shone as if it were determined to make up for lost time. The air was still full of little crystalline particles of ice, refracting and reflecting the light into delicate, blinding webs. It was cold out here - cold enough to almost instantly cut through the parka he had retrieved from his room, but the direct light of the sun still felt warm on his upturned face - just the ghost of heat. As he studied the sky, his fingers sought the smooth round shape of the comm in his pocket.

His eyes didn’t even light on the First Order shuttle until its doors slid open with a hiss. Two lines of three troopers each filed out to line the walkway as a black-coated officer walked between them.

He recognized the officer instantly. It was Lieutenant Mitaka, cheeks flushed by the crisp air. 

“General Hux,” he said, striding forward and giving a stiff salute. “The First Order is relieved to see you safe.” His words were formal, but his eyes betrayed genuine happiness. The younger man had never been good at concealing his emotions.

Hux, for his part, could have collapsed in relief at the sight of the familiar, relatively trustworthy face, but he kept himself composed. “Lieutenant.” He said briskly. “Shall we?” He nodded back towards the shuttle.

“Of course, sir,” the younger man said, “welcome back.”

Hux turned back, one last time to face the droid and the foreman. “The First Order thanks you for your service in uncovering the vile plot against my life, and for your help upon my escape.” He said. “Someone from the Order will be in touch shortly to begin organizing the large scale changes to the mines and to collect our first installment of your duralium.”

“Yes sir, General Hux,” said the droid, “thank you.”

“Yes,” the foreman agreed, “many thanks to you and the First Order.”

As Hux walked side by side with Mitaka between the rows of troopers the younger man turned to him, an earnest but professional smile on his face. 

“It is good to have you back, General,” he said, “all due respect, when we heard you crashed here, and with Poe Dameron, many of us thought you were dead.”

“So did I, Lieutenant,” Hux said with a weary nod as the troopers filed back in behind them, and the walkway began to withdraw, “so did I.”

___

_ The Finalizer _ , Five Years Before

_ Brendol Hux is dead _ . 

He stared at the words on the screen before him. They were true, but too blunt. He tried again. 

_ My father was a good man _ \- 

Sloane had told him once that one could do good or be good, but never both. Doing good work almost always required the sacrifice of one’s goodness. Of course, most people never managed either. He didn’t think his father had. He erased the words again and stared into the oppressive blue glow of the blank page.

It seemed like some kind of macabre joke, having him give the eulogy at his father’s funeral. Everyone in the First Order knew how Brendol had hated his son, and even if they did not suspect Armitage’s hand in his death, they couldn’t possibly think he was sad to see the old bastard go.

And he wasn’t sad, but neither did he feel anything else. He had expected a great weight to lift from his shoulders, expected every terrible thing his father ever said to him to suddenly become mercifully meaningless. He had worried it would be difficult to fight down his joy and play the grieving son. But it was all just as it had always been. 

He had visited his father in the medbay, just before they moved him to the bacta tank where he died. He was so bloated from the beetle’s pison it was difficult to recognize him. His skin was a translucent white, and shimmering under a sheen of sweat. He looked like a great, albino slug, Hux thought, something that shouldn’t be in direct light or too far from water. 

“He has not been lucid in some time,” the medical droid informed him as they entered the private room where he lay. “Captain Cardinal paid a visit earlier today and reported that General Hux - apologies, the elder General Hux - was conscious but seemed disoriented and unable to speak.”

“Thank you for the report.” He said.

Of course Cardinal had been here - the pathetic sycophant. He was no doubt hovering over the old man’s deathbed waiting for some special last words just for him - for Brendol to look soulfully up into his eyes and say  _ I always wished you were my son instead of that useless bastard, Armitage _ . Perhaps he even imagined that on his death bed, Brendol Hux would adopt him outright - give him that sense of belonging and approval he had always held over his head. He was too stupid to see that that’s all Brendol Hux ever did - hold approval at arms length, keep you guessing and fighting and climbing until you realized it was a game you could never win. It pleased him to know Cardinal had gotten nothing from the old man.

He looked down at his father’s pale, slack face. It was almost unrecognizable - not because of the bloating or the pallor of his strained flesh, but the lack of any malignant expression. Brendol Hux had never once gazed upon his son without anger or disgust or bitter disappointment. Now all the frown lines lay loose and dormant. His mouth was half open, its terrible power gone. His eyes were closed - eyelashes, like what little hair remained on his head, leached to grey. Were it not for the labored breathing he might already be dead. 

Stars, he looked old and frail now. 

Suddenly the blue eyes snapped open, clouded but still undeniably awake. His lips had tensed too, straining as if he were trying to say something.

The younger Hux drew closer to the bed, wrinkling his nose at the hospital stench of the old man.

It was hard at first to read the expression in his father’s eyes - confusion, fear, helplessness. Overwhelming helplessness. It was the gaze of a lost, frightened child. There was no recognition in those dull eyes, only a sickening, infantile innocence. 

He waited for a rush of power, of triumph to wash over him. This was it after all, the moment he had Phasma had been plotting for years. His father was dying, he was weak and vulnerable and pathetic. Where was the joy? All he felt was a great, palpable nothing, swelling bigger and bigger inside him, buzzing like static on a dead HoloNet channel until it was almost nauseating. This wasn’t right - it wasn’t fair - he had won, so why didn’t it feel like he had? And now anger was seeping in around the edges of the nothing. Why couldn’t he be satisfied? He deserved to be satisfied. He had earned that right. After a lifetime of denying him any kind of happiness, Brendol Hux would not even allow his son to enjoy his death as he should. 

But this wasn’t right - he had always imagined looking his father in the eye as he killed him - seeing the recognition and the rage in his face - the dawning knowledge that his useless bastard son had bested him. He had wanted to taunt him,  _ it’s just as you said, father,  _ he had imagined himself saying in his countless fantasies,  _ survival is not a right, it’s a privilege that you have ceased to be worthy of _ .  _ I will be more powerful than you ever dreamt of being. I will cleanse the Order of every corrupt, outmoded piece of trash like you, and when I’m finished, no one in the galaxy will remember you.  _ And it wasn’t just taunting - there were questions he had wanted to ask -  _ What was it I did to make you hate me, father? Did I fail you before I was old enough to walk? To speak? Is there anything I could have done to have been enough? Could you ever have loved me? Did you ever love anyone - Maratelle, my mother?  _

But there would be no answers, and no triumph now. This sickly, bloated husk of a man was not his father. There was no victory in killing whatever pathetic creature was looking up at him through those bleary, disoriented eyes. Though Brendol Hux might have found a sense of power in beating a weak, defenseless child, Armitage Hux did not. 

He thought perhaps he could empathize a bit with Cardinal - sitting in this same spot, waiting for last words that would never come. Even knowing that Brendol Hux’s approval was nothing but a false goal, something that was never meant to be reached, there was always that faint, stupid spark of hope that some day, against all odds, the old man would say  _ I’m proud of you _ , and mean it. It might have been a faint hope, but now there was none at all.

“You,” the pained, rasping sound (it could hardly be called a voice) that issued from his father’s swollen throat caught him so off guard he nearly screamed. 

His eyes snapped down to meet the older man’s, searching for some recognition, some specificity in the word  _ you _ . But there was nothing.  _ You  _ could have been anyone, Armitage just happened to be nearby. 

“Water-” the old man managed, moving his head ever so slightly to indicate a glass on the bedside table.

Hux looked dumbly from his father to the glass on the table. He heard glass shattering somewhere in the recesses of his memory -  _ you’re pathetic - _ Brendol’s voice, but stronger, harder.  _ Given that you found his mother in a kitchen,  _ that was Brooks’s drawl, echoing across the years,  _ you’d think your illegitimate son could at least serve a drink _ . His father had beaten him bloody in front of Brooks that night. This pathetic creature before him might not remember that, but he did. He considered breaking the glass on the medbay floor,  _ perhaps you should lick it up, father. _ But then -

“Please?” 

The younger Hux had to do a triple take at that. He didn’t think he had ever heard his father say  _ please _ , not to him, at least. He really must not be lucid.

He swallowed hard - swallowed a million emotions he couldn’t name - and picked up the glass. It was clear the older man would not be able to hold it himself, and so Hux did something he could never have pictured himself doing - he lifted the glass to his father’s lips, and held it there while he drank. It would be so easy to kill him - he could drown him with the very water he had asked for, or smother him with the paper-thin pillow he rested against. It was what Brendol would have done in his place. Only the strong should survive. It was a mercy to shoot a nerf when it was too old to walk. But he did not kill his father. Perhaps that was his own small, final act of cruelty to the old man. 

He didn’t do anything, or say anything, until his father turned his head away ever so slightly, indicating that he was done drinking, and then he took it away. The great, staticy nothing inside him was almost unbearable. He felt like he might be sick - might drown in his own horrible, crushing numbness. He watched a stray trail of water dribble down Brendol’s chin. 

Whatever he had come here to do or to feel would not happen now. It was never going to happen. Brendol Hux was gone. His body had yet to die, but Armitage would never get to kill him. There would be no last words, and there would be no closure here. He told himself then that triumph might still hit him later - once the old man was really dead, once the funeral was done, once his quarters were cleared out. It couldn’t be that after all this time, after all this waiting and plotting and promising himself justice, that this was all there would be. 

_ When I was a boy- _

he wrote, his fingers a blur on the keyboard -

_ my father, Brendol Hux, gave me an invaluable piece of wisdom. He told me that survival is not a right. It is a privilege, earned only by the strong. One must fight for the right to survive. It is a lesson he instilled in every one of the children whose lives he changed for the better - our stormtrooper corps are a testament to that - as am I. It was a lesson he modeled himself. He fought until the end, and when he understood this illness was not a fight to be won, he accepted death with dignity. He was himself to the very end. Strong, honorable, brave in the face of the inevitable.  _

Here his voice would waver on the cusp of breaking, but remain strong. The grief-stricken son, forging on valiantly, out of love for his father, and earnest hope for the future. He would make a show of composing himself and press on.

_ Brendol Hux was a man who cared deeply about the future. He dedicated his life to it - training the children of the Empire, and later the children of the First Order, for a galaxy which would be far more inhospitable and chaotic than any of us could have guessed. In that way, he was the very heart of the First Order. What would we be without our children - who would our soldiers be, and what would we be fighting for?  _

_ When I visited him at the end, he told me he saw a glorious future for the First Order - a galaxy at peace, freed from the chaos and the corruption of the New Republic, where every hungry child might have a family and a purpose in our ranks. I promised him then that his vision would not come to nothing. The First Order will forge on valiantly into the glorious future he dedicated his life to. _

Again emotion would swell, and he would tame it - solidifying it into fervor, building to the crescendo -

_ The weak, traitorous New Republic has shown it does not care about the future. It does not care about its starving children, it does not care for the countless trillions who will die, never knowing purpose or order. It would rather waste its funds supporting the cancer that is the Resistance - the poison at the heart of the galaxy. If we - if the galaxy itself - is to survive, we must fight for it. We must fight for the future. It is the only thing worth fighting for. The past is untouchable, the present is untenable, but the future shall be ours. We will win, and we must win for my father and every other hero of the First Order who worked tirelessly for a future they could not live to see.  _

He would have built to a shout by then, eyes aflame, exhorting the crowd into a great wave of passion. As they cheered he would take a breath, and then resume, solemnly. 

_ Brendol Hux may be gone, but his work - his dreams - live on in every stormtrooper cadet, in every planet we liberate, whose children will no longer suffer and starve under an apathetic New Republic, in those of us who grew up with his teaching, who might pass it on to the next generation. He has left the First Order with the most invaluable of gifts - he has left us with potential, and in his honor, I shall direct that potential, shape our youth into the mighty force we shall need if we are to fight for our survival and win. _

His tone would become businesslike, but his eyes would burn on, into the crowd. Perhaps he would heave a quiet but visible sigh before he continued, more brusque then before but still passionate. He might be talking business, but it was the business of his father’s legacy, and who could question that.

_ In honor of my father, I shall be overseeing an expansion of the stormtrooper training program. Alongside Captain Cardinal, who has thus far led the program admirably, my esteemed colleague Captain Phasma, shall take over the training of older cadets, ensuring that the future of the First Order is in two of the very best sets of hands.  _

_ With the completion of Starkiller Base near at hand, a new era will soon be upon us. A bright era, an era of peace, and prosperity. As we progress toward that bright, shining future let us not forget that none of this would be possible without one of the the great architects of the First Order, the man who dedicated his life to the future - my father, Brendol Hux. _

And as the crowd cheered he would cast one last doleful, highly visible glance at the empty coffin which would be ceremonially cremated in lieu of the corpse, now long gone. His posture would be confident, but his face carefully composed into an expression of grief. Plenty of the higher ranking officers would see through the charade immediately. But they knew, and he knew, that that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the truth of his grief, it was about what he would use that supposed grief to do - how he would leverage Brendol Hux’s death for his gain and the gain of the Order. They would also know that after this speech, he would have the stormtroopers in his pocket. No one would dare cross him publicly when the actual fighting force of the First Order was on his side.

Brendol Hux was dead, and nothing inside his son had changed. The past had not righted itself, old hurts did not heal because the one who inflicted them was gone. At least externally things were changing, his station becoming more secure, his power growing. That counted for something. Perhaps triumph and relief would come later, once Starkiller Base was finished, once he had his title of Grand Marshall, once he was sure no one could ever question him or make him feel small again.

He shut off the computer and left his desk behind to pour himself a glass of wine. Who, he wondered, would tell pretty lies at his funeral? What cause would his eulogy be spun for? He would not die of old age. Men like him never did. All he could hope was that it would be quicker than his father’s death, that he would not linger as some sorry shade in a medbay, and that whoever had him killed would use his death for a worthy cause. 

  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading and for leaving kudos and comments! you really keep me going! all i have to say for myself with this update is ... sorry?

_ The Steadfast _ , 7 Weeks Before 

The two day journey back to the  _ Steadfast  _ was one of the most nerve wracking stretches of time in his life. He didn’t sleep a wink aboard the shuttle. He needed every moment to craft the report for the Supreme Leader. Of course, he understood that the decision as to whether or not he would die would already have been made. This memo was just a formality, another intentional blow to his dignity. He could prove beyond question that the mines he had secured for the Order were the best duralium mines in the galaxy and none of it would matter if Kylo Ren had already decided he should die. Still, he would give it his best. It did no good to dwell on the inescapable and arbitrary cruelty of Kylo Ren. He had to proceed as if he had some measure of control over his fate or he would go mad. All he could do was type away on the datapad Mitaka had given him and cling to the delusion that it would be enough.

“I couldn’t requisition a new one before we left to get you.” Mitaka had admitted. “This is an old one of Allegiant General Pryde’s - I doubt he’ll mind.” 

_ ‘I doubt he’ll notice’, you mean _ , Hux thought but didn’t say. So long as it didn’t get the younger man killed, he didn’t mind him going behind Pryde’s back. He had known Lieutenant Mitaka since the younger man had graduated the academy and since then he had proven his loyalty to Hux - proven that he could be trusted - as much as anyone could be, which wasn’t much. He could be useful in these treacherous times.

“That’s quite alright,” he reassured the lieutenant, “so long as it works.”

“It does, sir.”

Sitting there, in the change of clothes that had been brought along for him, armed with a new blaster and the used datapad, he could almost pretend nothing had changed at all. But nothing ever stayed still in the First Order - things would have changed even in the short time he was gone.

“Now,” he said brusquely to Mitaka, “debrief me. What happened in my absence?”

“Two serious losses, sir.” the lieutenant grimaced.

“I see.” Hux suppressed a smirk. Trouble in his absence meant a better case for keeping him alive, maybe even finally restoring his full command.

“Supreme Leader Ren has been ...displeased lately.”

_ When is he ever pleased? _ But Hux kept his sardonic comments to himself. He could know and Mitaka could know that there was trouble in the ranks, but they couldn’t say it outright. Still, he didn’t need the lieutenant to say anything to sense how difficult the last few days had been. The man’s pale face looked positively ghostlike, and when he moved it was with a stiffness as if his body had taken some brutal physical punishment. Had Ren thrown him into a wall? The floor? 

“Then I suppose I had better make this report very good indeed.” He made his tone a little more lighthearted than he felt, the closest thing he could offer to comfort. 

A nod and the ghost of a smile on the younger man’s tight lips. “I’ll leave you to it sir.”

Poe Dameron had tried to contact him once too, on the second day of the journey. Hux had all but sprinted to the lavatory and locked himself in the moment the little comm beeped.

“Not a good time, Dameron,” he hissed into the comm.

An infuriating, comforting chuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still alive.” 

“I won’t be for long if you keep calling me whenever the need takes you,” he snapped.

“But you’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.” There was a smile in his voice.

“I really can’t talk now,” Hux insisted, but his tone was softer. “I’ll be back aboard a proper ship in a day or so, perhaps it's better if you wait on my call.”

“Fine, fine. Tell Kylo Ren I said ‘hi’.”

“Not a chance.” He smirked as he switched off the comm.

He had spent his life in the presence of secrets - secrets he kept, secrets kept from him, plots and conspiracies and unspoken truths - and they had worn him ragged, made his back ache from their weight and his mind become twisted and paranoid - what was one more secret? And a pleasant one at that? Still, he hated how natural it felt - talking to Poe - telling him to wait for his call. It all felt so terribly normal, but it wasn’t normal. Normal was waiting for him on the  _ Steadfast _ and it was cold and cruel and it would crush this little thing beneath its boot.

He finished his report half-way through the second day - reread it a dozen times for any errors or poor phrasing, and sent it in. There were still several hours of hyperspeed travel before they reached the  _ Steadfast _ . The troopers were talking amongst themselves - idle gossip he caught snippets of. They called each other nicknames when they thought he couldn’t hear them. Mitaka was working furiously at his own datapad. He had volunteered for this mission, but that didn’t mean his other duties could take a backseat. Indeed, Hux suspected he had been given extra work as a punishment for appearing to show favor to the general. It was the sort of small, casually cruel thing Pryde would do - it was the sort of thing he himself would do if their places were reversed.

Two hours out and his brain was humming with nervous energy. There was no point being nervous, he reminded himself, this was either the end or it wasn’t, and no amount of anxiety would change the outcome. He glanced back down at the datapad, and began absentmindedly swiping through the contents. As he perused old documents - most of them copies of old briefings that had been widely distributed - he noticed a few more personal looking files. Allegiant General Pryde’s files. 

_ It’s never been properly wiped! _ He nearly gasped out loud as he realized it. Had Mitaka known that all along? No - it wasn’t in his nature to be so calculating and clever. It must have been an accident - a brilliant, dangerous accident that he could use. The lieutenant had said the datapad was old - it might not have any recent documents - anything that might tell him what his fate would be when he returned to the  _ Steadfast _ . But there might be other useful things - Since Kylo Ren’s rise to power, Pryde had been privy to many things Hux had been shut out of.

He started his investigation simply by searching his own name. Nothing of especial interest came up. Messages and reports he had sent - an old memo about Brendol Hux’s death and his stirring eulogy - a few messages between Pryde and other old imperial cronies which hid complaints about him beneath official language. There was one exchange between Pryde and Maratelle, dated to shortly after his father’s death.

**E.P. -** Was sorry to miss you at the funeral. Young Armitage gave quite the impressive little speech.

**M.H. -** A long journey for very little reward. Are you sure the boy wasn’t behind it?

**E.P. -** Nothing anyone can prove.

**M.H. -** I heard he’s a general now. 

**E.P. -** So it seems. I have yet to figure out how he’s done it. It was all very sudden. It seems the Supreme Leader has taken an interest in him.

**M.H. -** Perhaps he takes after his mother more than we thought. She certainly had a knack for getting close to power.

Hux closed the exchange there. Even the worst of this was an open secret - none of it betrayed anything he didn’t already know about Pryde. Perhaps he was looking in the wrong direction. It would take far too long to search through every probable key word until he found something useful. He changed his tactic - this time filtering for any encrypted or locked files. This was a datapad, not a secure personal computer, so he doubted he would find any truly damning information but still he forged ahead. And there was his reward - a few files, encrypted and password locked, all of them more than a decade old. Of the ten or so files there was one which caught his eye immediately, dated some twenty years ago and labelled only with a name:

Sloane, Rae

The ship came out of hyperspeed with a jolt, the  _ Steadfast _ looming huge and indomitable before them. For most of his life, the sight of a First Order star destroyer had been a comfort - a promise of safety from the chaos and danger of the galaxy beyond. Now he felt his chest tighten with anxiety. 

“General Hux, sir?” Mitaka spoke up, suddenly right beside him.

“What is it?” Hux hurriedly stuffed the datapad into his tunic for safekeeping. Pryde’s secret file on Slone would have to wait.

“Allegiant General Pryde says I’m to take you straight to the boardroom when we dock. He and Supreme Leader Ren would like to meet with you right away.”

Hux barely suppressed a frustrated scoff. Of course they wanted him right away. They wanted him tired, disoriented, easier to read. 

“Thank you lieutenant.” He said simply.

The  _ Steadfast _ ’s hangar bay was like a dream - the sudden abundance of activity around him - the troopers and TIE pilots, mechanics and astromechs. After days of seeing no other humans besides Poe Dameron and Mr. Vanus, it was almost overwhelming. As he and Mitaka made their way out of the hangar bay and through the labyrinthine series of hallways and lifts that led to the board room, people kept stopping to gawp at Hux. How many of them had thought him dead? How many of them had secretly wished for it? 

The crew of the  _ Finalizer  _ \- the crew he had built rapport and trust with over the last decade and a half - had been distributed between a number of ships. Some, like Mitaka, had come with him to the  _ Steadfast _ , but for the most part he considered this to be enemy territory. These were not his loyal men and he met each of their shocked stares with a cool, challenging gaze.  _ I am not an easy man to kill _ , his glare said,  _ remember that, before you try anything _ .

Every step he took further into the guts of the ship took him closer to himself, the coldness and the self assuredness coursing back through his veins like a much needed blood transfusion. He remembered his purpose now, more clearly than he had in days. Survive. Defeat Pryde. Defeat Ren. Defeat the Resistance. Save the galaxy. He repeated it like a mantra.  _ Survive. Defeat Pryde. Defeat Ren. Defeat the Resistance. Save the galaxy.  _ There was no time for affection, for being hung up on morals or methods. And yet… 

And yet there was a small part of him - an imposter in his own body, which remained resolutely, fundamentally changed. This strange tumor of a conscience still hung on to Poe Dameron, hung on to -  _ You helped people. Remember that. Remember that’s something you can choose to do -  _ hung on to -  _ until the next time _ \- as if there really could be a next time. 

Would Kylo Ren be able to sense this change in him? Smell it out like an anuba on the prowl? If Kylo Ren looked into his mind and saw this … strange malignant thing it would be certain death. And even now his traitor fingers sought the shape of the comm in his pocket for comfort - tracing it absentmindedly. Stars, he was doomed - if Kylo Ren hadn’t already made up his mind to kill Hux he surely would now. And there was no way out. He didn’t want a way out, he didn’t want to run. The First Order was all he’d ever known, he wouldn’t give it up even if he had the chance - even if it were possible for him to turn tail and sprint away - no, he was cornered. Would Poe Dameron know that Hux had died on his account? Would he care?

“Sir,” Mitaka’s timid voice cut through his growing panic.

“What?” He snapped

The younger man was studying him with a concerned stare. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” But his breathless voice betrayed him. “Just tired.”

“Of course sir, apologies.” Mitaka nodded, his small mouth pursing and twisting as if he were trying to formulate more words. 

“Sometimes,” he began at last, placing each word as if he were balancing it on the blade of a knife, “when I feel  _ tired _ and I don’t want it to ...disquiet Supreme Leader Ren … I list things. Star destroyer classes, sectors in the Outer Rim, laundry instructions for my uniform. I list things to keep my mind busy, so that the Supreme Leader is not … burdened or distracted by my  _ tiredness _ .”

Hux’s expression warmed as he saw what Mitaka was doing. 

“Sound advice.” He said, nodding carefully. “I certainly would not want my tiredness to distract from the meeting.”

“Indeed.”

Lieutenant Mitaka was one of the good ones. One of the very few officers aboard this ship - one of the very few people in the galaxy - who he was fairly sure didn’t hate him or want him dead. Someday soon, he would reward Mitaka’s loyalty with a promotion. He could even be a worthy protege once Hux had the time for one. 

When they came to the boardroom door Hux paused - considered saying something -  _ if I don’t survive this, thank you for everything. Don’t let them break you down.  _ But he didn’t say that - couldn’t say something so sentimental. 

Instead he gave Mitaka a firm nod and simply said, “lists.”

“Lists.” Said Mitaka, with a salute.

And then the door slid open. 

After every physically dangerous thing that had happened over the last few days - storms and groundquakes and twice being held at gunpoint by Poe Dameron - the irony was not lost on Hux that the most perilous fight for his life of all was taking place in a boardroom. Pryde and Ren were already seated, and a paper cup of caf indicated where he was expected to sit. Pryde was directly across from him, ice blue eyes trained on him like tractor beams. Kylo Ren sat at the head of the table, just in range of his peripheral vision. It was a trick Hux had seen enough by now to recognize. He was trying to goad the general into dividing his attention, glancing around nervously like a guilty man - to unsettle and unfocus him. He would not fall for it. He kept his eyes trained steady and undaunted on Pryde. If he went to the firing squad after this, he would face it with the same stubborn dignity - though he didn’t fool himself that there would be a firing squad. Kylo Ren’s gloved fingers drummed the table like they already ached to snap his neck. 

He listed classes of star destroyers.  _ Aggressor, Gladiator, I class, II class, Interdictor  _ ...

Was it a good sign or a bad one, he wondered, that there was no one else here? Surely if he was to be killed, Ren and Pryde would want it public - an example to anyone else who might be foolish enough to get themselves kidnapped. Then again, they might be trying to keep the arbitrary nature of his execution secret. If no one else was here, the other two men could spin any story they wanted about why he was killed - they could say he’d become a spy, that the whole kidnapping had been a failed plot to dessert. Truth didn’t matter in the First Order, only the agenda of whoever lived to tell the tale.

_ Onager, Procursator, Resurgent _ ...

_ Calm down _ , he reminded himself,  _ he wants you afraid. Don’t give him that satisfaction.  _ He forced himself to take a sip of caf. Any comfort he might have found in the familiar flavor of the First Order’s standard instant brew (which he drank so often it was once suggested they put his face on the label) was ruined by the fact that it had gone cold. He swallowed it anyway, forcing himself not to grimace. He wondered if the drink was poisoned but decided it didn’t matter. If they wanted him dead, he would die one way or another, either by the poison or something else.

“General Hux,” Pryde began, glancing down at his datapad. “I have reviewed your report on the events of your kidnapping and escape. I find it troubling indeed that these brigands felt comfortable kidnapping a general of the First Order as part of their plot. It speaks - not just to a disrespect for law and order but to a disrespect for the First Order as a galactic power.”

“They were ignorant, Wildspace savages, Allegiant General,” Hux confirmed. “And as per my report, I believe we should punish them most severely and -”

“But what concerns me almost as much,” Pryde cut him off, his eyes flashing in the pale fluorescent light, “is how easily Poe Dameron managed to escape your clutches.”

Hux’s stomach dropped.

_ Secutor, Tector, Venator, Victory I … _

“I assure you, Allegiant General, Supreme Leader,” he finally broke down and turned to look at Kylo Ren, eyes burning into that inscrutable masked face, “I did all I could to keep Dameron subdued but he overpowered me - he took my blaster and -”

“So you say,” Pryde cut him off once again, “but surely in this duralium mining facility someone more ...physically capable could have dealt with him.”

“I’m sure they tried but Poe Dameron is devious. And as I covered in my report, Incipt Mining is woefully understaffed which is something we must deal with as we move forward with our partnership.”

“You spent almost an entire week with Poe Dameron,” Kylo Ren spoke for the first time since the meeting began. “But there was no new intelligence in your report.”

_ Victory II … defect, come back with me -  _ Poe Dameron’s voice.  _ I’ve seen good in you, Armitage - stop. Aggressor, Gladiator, I class … _

“I was unable to gain any new intelligence.” He hung his head, fixing his eyes on the table. “I thought it was in the best interest of defending First Order intelligence to avoid such topics entirely.” Better they think him an incompitant fool than a traitor.

“But you did speak to him,” Pryde pushed, “you spoke with Poe Dameron.”

_ Poe’s lips, his smile, his warm, rough hands, the rush of wind that accompanies a fall - no. II class, Interdictor, Onager … _

“To the extent that was necessary to escape our kidnapping. I acted in the way I judged best and I was right to do so. I escaped captivity, I uncovered the conspiracy, I secured the duralium mines for the FIrst Order.” His tone had grown heated. He would not sit here while they wrote off every accomplishment he had made over the last week. He would not die quietly.

“The conspirators will pay for what they’ve done,” the Supreme Leader said, cocking his head to the side, “as will this Incipt Mining Corporation and the rest of the population that helped Poe Dameron escape.”

“No!” The word tore itself from his lips before he could stop it. “No, Supreme Leader, with all due respect, Incipt Mining is a valuable asset, as is the native population, as I laid out in my report -”

“Someone allowed Poe Dameron to escape,” said Kylo Ren. “Someone has to pay for that grave error. And as you said, you did all you could. That only leaves the planet’s population. They must have been the ones to allow Poe Dameron to escape.”

“I-” his voice caught in his throat. This was an out. Kylo Ren was offering him an out. If he took it he would betray all those who saved his life, who Poe had trusted him to save, but if he didn’t …

“Several First Order star destroyers are in position as we speak,” said Pryde, “on your order, Supreme Leader, they will begin depopulating and strip mining both worlds.”

A horrible realization struck Hux. Pryde would have had to order those ships there at least a day ago, before he had read the general’s report. This was always the plan. It would be the plan even if he argued against it now. Only then he would be dead too. No. He had to live, had to survive to make Ren and Pryde pay for this.

“What do you think, General Hux?” Kylo Ren’s masked face positively radiated triumphant smugness. It seeped out of the glowing red seams. 

He set his face in a cold, stony mask, as impenetrable as the Supreme Leader’s. “Yes, Supreme Leader. Order the strike.”

“A wise decision, General Hux.” Pryde’s thin mouth twisted into an unkind smile. He took a commlink from his pocket and switched it on, never taking his eyes from Hux. “Initiate depopulation and stripmining of both planets.” He said flatly.

“Yes sir, Allegiant General.” A staticky voice from the other end.

Somewhere deep inside Hux, something had fallen out of place. He felt off balance - like he might be sick right there at the table. He gripped the paper cup of caf in a shaking, gloved hand and raised it to his lips, forcing down another disgusting sip. He would kill them both. He would do it himself - watch them die. They would pay for this humiliation.

“That will be all, General,” said Pryde, waving Hux away as though he were a droid. “Return to your quarters, get some rest after your ordeal, or perhaps pay a visit to the medbay. You look terrible.”

That was all the permission he needed to rise shakily from the table, shoving his chair back so hard it hit the wall. “Thank you sir,” Hux managed through gritted teeth, “and thank you Supreme Leader, for your mercy in the face of my failure.” 

“Count yourself lucky that you happened to be kidnapped on a planet with such an untapped wealth of duralim,” Kylo Ren replied, ‘it will not happen again.”

Hux did go back to his quarters, but he couldn’t rest. His rage and humiliation was so great he did not even register the usually comforting familiarity of the space - the bed, the desk, the blue sofa. He made straight for the desk, and withdrew the datapad from his tunic. He would crack Pryde’s encryption - he would find out what he knew about Sloane - and every other dark secret he could, and he would ruin the man. He would make him pay for this, for his snide remarks about him to Maratelle, for every time his father had beaten him bloody and Pryde had been there, that blasted mouth turned up at the corners as if he were watching an amusing play. And Ren - oh Ren would be next. What he had done to Snoke would be nothing compared to what Hux would do to him. As long as men like those two were allowed to rule, the Galaxy would never know peace or Order. They thrived only on chaos, on suffering. 

Predictably Pryde’s encryption methods were outdated - Imperial technology older than Hux himself. He could slice it in a single night. Sleep could wait.

A chirp from his pocket.

His first response was to be indignant - he’d told Dameron to wait for him to call first. What if his had happened while he was meeting with Ren and Pryde? He could have been killed. But his second response, hot on the heels of the first, was to be relieved beyond measure. He was so tired, so angry, so wounded from that meeting - the promise of Poe’s voice was like the promise of drink to a man dying of thirst.

It was that second impulse that moved his arm, brought out the comm and switched it on.

“Hello -” He said before he could compose himself.

“What the fuck have you done Hux?” The voice on the other end was white hot and vibrating with rage. “What did you do? That planet - we just got a report from our contacts in the area - the First Order obliterated all of it - killed everyone.”

“It was Kylo Ren,” he insisted, “and Allegiant General Pryde. They ordered the strike.”

“Were you there?” Dameron pressed. “Were you in the room?”

“Well - yes,” Hux stammered, desperation clawing at the back of his throat, “but I didn’t have a choice, they would have killed me if I’d tried to fight them. It was always their plan, Poe. I had no say.”

“So you let all those innocents get killed instead.” There wasn’t a trace of warmth in Dameron’s voice. “You just let it happen.”

Despite himself, Hux felt heat rising in his cheeks, burning hot behind his eyes. “They would have died no matter what, you fool. If I’d tried to argue they would have killed me and then ordered the planet’s depopulation just the same.”

“At least you would have died standing up for the right thing.” Dameron spat the words into the comm. “Better than living like a kriffing coward, standing for nothing.”

“That’s not fair, Poe.” His traitor voice broke on the last syllable - the name.

“When have you ever cared about what’s fair? Those people helped us - helped you and it got them killed. Was that fair? Stars, you’re a fucking coward. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I am an idiot, expecting anything different from you. I thought I saw a decent man in you before, but you know what? I think I just saw another warm body on a cold fucking ice planet.”

The bottom had dropped out of Hux’s stomach and his heart had fallen through it. He felt the air knocked out of his chest as if he were falling, but it wasn’t like before - falling forever and never hitting the ground. No, the ground was rushing up to meet him now - he was caught in an endless moment of being about to strike the bottom. His voice left his throat from a million miles away - cold and sharp as the blade he sorely wished was still in his sleeve. 

“I never claimed to be anything other than what I am, Dameron. There are no secret depths to me, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.” He would not allow the other man to be the one to end it. “I’m not one of your lost causes to champion.” He would deal the killing blow. “We could never have been anything but a waste of each other’s time, and I do believe you’ve wasted quite enough of mine.”

His shaking hand switched the comm off and dropped it limply to the desk as if its little weight had suddenly become too immense to bear. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slightly late update (sorry!). As always thank you so much for reading and sharing your wonderful comments with me! I hope you enjoy!

_ The Absolution,  _ 19 Years Before

Hux had long ago erased the name of the first boy he kissed from his mind. He remembered him only as The Mistake. The Mistake was a few inches taller than Armitage with hair the color of honey that he kept cropped short on the back and sides and grew into a wavy crown at the top of his head, just short enough to skirt the First Order’s regulation. Armitage had a great deal of time to study his hair, as The Mistake sat just one row ahead of him in their physics lessons. Though Armitage excelled at physics, the lessons were dull and his mind often wandered, usually to the boy seated in front of him. The Mistake was not an especially good student. He always seemed more interested in whispering to his friends sat on either side of him. More than once Armitage had seen him bow his head and hunch his shoulders over his datapad when an exam came back graded, but the shame always seemed to fade as soon as he was out in the hall with his friends, loud and jovial as ever. Armitage, alone with his perfect marks and no friends at all, could only stare from a safe distance, marveling at the brilliance of his grin.

What The Mistake did excel at were physical challenges. Whenever they had drills, the boy would move like his body was made for it, jumping between floating platforms and pulling himself up over obstacles with ease. When Brendol Hux observed the drills, Armitage often saw the older man’s eyes following The Mistake with undisguised approval. Armitage wanted to resent the other boy for this, wanted to despise him as he did every other young man his father openly preferred to him, but the younger Hux was just as enraptured as his father.

The Mistake also excelled at combat sims, almost always the one to forge ahead and seize the decisive victory in the simulated battle. Meanwhile it was all Armitage could do to make it all the way through the simulation without being shot. He was cowering behind a barrier, trying not to be shocked when the incredible happened, The Mistake threw himself down beside Armitage, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Hey,” he said, clutching his training blaster to his heaving chest, “Hux, right?”

“I - yes.” Armitage stammered, his brain lagging as it struggled to process what was happening.

“Great. I think I can shoot out the nearest turret from here. Cover me.” The other boy made to move along the barrier, closer to the enemy base that was their goal. 

Armitage scrambled to ready his own blaster, taking aim at the nearest simulated enemy fighter and handily taking him out. He was quietly relieved that his body still remembered how to aim, even as his heart was going haywire in his chest.

“Good shot, Hux!” The Mistake smiled back over his shoulder. 

Armitage could have choked. He had never been the direct recipient of that luminous grin before. 

“Say, Hux,” the boy went on as Armitage shot another oncoming enemy fighter, “you’re good at physics right? I see you on the leaderboards, you’re top of the class.”

“You … see me?” Armitage repeated, awestruck. 

In all his years at the academy, drifting between classes and drills and his room, eating alone in the mess hall, spending days off by himself in his room or in the archives, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever seen him. He was a ghost - a speck of dust, lucky to be caught in the corner of someone’s eye from time to time. He couldn’t even remember the last time any of his peers had spoken to him outside of perfunctory small talk. He told himself he didn’t need friends - what was a friend but another weak point? Someone who could betray you or leave you? He had long ago decided to be alone on his own terms - after all it was better to keep his head down, to be nothing at all until he was free of the academy and the real work began. But now this boy - with his honey-colored hair and his bright smile - was saying he had seen him - even if it was just at the top of a leaderboard - and Armitage’s heart felt like it was being kissed by sunlight for the first time in ages.

The Mistake shrugged. “Yeah, sure I have. Listen, Hux,” he ducked as an energy bolt sailed over his head, “I’m not doing so great in physics, right? And if I don’t pass the exam next week I’ll fail the class - my mother will kill me.” He braced his blaster against the side of the barrier and took aim at the turret. “So I was wondering - you think you could - I dunno - tutor me or something?”

“I - yes - yes, I could do that!” Armitage tried his best to tamp down his breathless glee into something that sounded nonchalant. 

He shot down another enemy.

“Great,” he said, “tonight, twenty-one hundred hours, lab P6. You don’t have plans or anything right?”

“No. No plans.”

“‘Course you don’t. Great. It’s a date then.”

“What?” Armitage said dumbly.

“What?” The other boy repeated.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Right then.”

And then The Mistake took aim and hit the turret, sending it exploding into a shower of flame and rubble. A triumphant laugh escaped Armitage’s mouth - though he never quite knew what he was celebrating. 

___

_ The Steadfast _ , 7 Weeks Before

Hux did not think about Poe Dameron. He did not think of him over his morning cup of caf, or as he exercised in the officer’s gym, and certainly not in the showers afterward. He did not think of his unruly curls, or the deep warm darkness of his eyes, or the gentle scratch of his stubble against Hux’s own skin, or the coldness in his voice, the way he pronounced every syllable of  _ what the fuck did you do, Hux _ as if it physically hurt him to say - no, he didn’t think of any of it at all. There was an airlock between his mind and the deadly vacuum of the past.

It was easier to keep thoughts of Poe Dameron at bay in the meetings that took up most of his day. He needed all his focus to navigate the treacherous waters of the Supreme Council, even if Kylo Ren himself was absent. There was a time when Quinn and Parnadee were his colleagues and he had worked closely with Engell on the Stormtrooper program after the loss of first Cardinal and then Phasma. Now though, there was no trust, no camaraderie - they were all cattle waiting to be slaughtered, shuffling desperately so that the butcher’s eye might fall on someone else first. Any one of them (Hux included) would sell out the person sitting next to them if it would keep Kylo Ren’s force grip from their neck for another day. Every meeting was a dance at the edge of a vibroblade, and it took all his focus not to be skewered by it. 

Parnadee was pushing to send fresh troops to Hutt Space, which was still a cesspool of disorder beyond their control. It was a fool’s errand, Quinn argued, the Empire knew that - they understood that sometimes pockets of lawlessness must be allowed to exist in order for the galaxy as a whole to thrive. If the First Order must control Hutt Space, the way to do it was by buying out the local crime lords - ensuring that disorder would at least be profitable. The best course of action was to send an ambassador along with a suitably intimidating ship. 

Hux held his tongue, though privately he thought Quinn was right. Parnadee needed a large scale ground victory, that was why she was pushing this, but Quinn, who shared command of ground forces, was ever cautious - knowing that the cost of failure was far higher than the reward for success - he wanted to be seen cautioning against it. If Parnadee’s plan failed then he might still escape unharmed. 

Engell predictably interjected enthusiastically that a campaign into Hutt Space would require more troopers - more children for the program. Hux pursed his lips. Engell was the first leader of the Storm Trooper Program who wasn’t, at least to some extent, a product of the program - or at least a product or Brendol Hux’s teachings. She was passionate about the success of the program, there was no doubt about that, but she seemed to lack a level of understanding that Phasma had had, or Cardinal, or even him. She had dropped the language of ‘recruitment’ or ‘rescue’ and called it simply ‘harvesting’, a term that Hux found distasteful.  _ That isn’t what we’re doing, _ he thought,  _ we’re doing good work. We aren’t harvesting children like crops _ . But all Engell seemed to care about was pleasing Kylo Ren - building an army ‘worthy of his greatness’. But of course that’s why she had been given this position in the first place.

“While I share General Quinn’s misgivings,” Hux spoke up for the first time, shooting everyone at the long table a cool glare, “there is potential in Hutt Space - and not just in terms of quelling disorder - the Hutts keep millions of slaves - it’s part of their despicable culture. There will be children among them - children in desperate need of  _ rescue _ ,” he emphasized the word as he gave Engell a particularly long glare, “the recruitment possibilities will be fruitful indeed.”

“Yes but how many Hutt slaves are human?” Quinn pushed back. “We cannot waste time on inferior stock that can’t be used for the Storm Trooper Program at all.” 

There was a barb in his voice - he hadn’t expected Hux to speak up in favor of the campaign into Hutt Space. Now he looked like the odd man out, a dangerous position indeed. His eyes darted from Hux to Pryde as if hoping that the Allegiant General might step in on his behalf , motivated, if nothing else, by pure spite towards Hux. But Pryde said nothing.

Hux ignored Quinn’s glare and went on. “Any non-human Hutt slaves we  _ liberate _ can be sent to our shipyards. Those need workers too, and they need not be human.” He countered. “And our new supply of duralium will supply us with funds for the campaign, as well as raw materials for new ships and and space stations to support the effort.” He looked right at Pryde when he mentioned the duralium, insisting defiantly on his usefulness. 

“So the council is agreed,” Parnadee pushed, “majority rules, we shall begin preparations to move on Hutt Space.”

_ Too eager _ , Hux chided her internally and turned to look at Admiral Griss. He was Pryde’s pet protege and unless he approved the decision it was unlikely Pryde would either. The two voted together.

Griss was only a few years Hux’s senior, and had always held a special dislike for the general. Hux suspected it was Pryde’s doing, that the Allegiant General had spun lies of nepotism, or other shameful favors to explain away the younger man’s success. He wouldn’t be the first to buy into the rumors. It was possible that his distaste for Hux would push him to vote against going into Hutt Space out of spite. 

After a long moment of consideration the man spoke, “we should send an exploratory force first - give them one last chance to cooperate willingly, and then strike.” A glance at Pryde. “But of course I defer to whatever the Supreme Leader decides.”

A murmur of agreement, begging to be heard. Hux swallowed his distaste and mumbled his own, “indeed.”

“Yes,” Pryde drawled, speaking at long last. “The final decision is Supreme Leader Ren’s to make. For my part, I think Admiral Griss said it best - we should lead with a smaller force, but be prepared for all out war.”

“And the troops needed-” Engell foolishly cut in - still trying to vie for relevance. 

“New trooper recruits are not a top priority at this time,” Pryde cut her off, “and as General Hux mentioned, there will be opportunities to bring new children in, over the course of this campaign.” 

Hux had to fight down the urge to visibly react in shock. Pryde was directly agreeing with him - why? He hadn’t had to do it - could have cut Engell off and been done with it. But he had agreed with Hux - almost hastily. And there was something about the way he said that new recruits were not a priority - as if he were speaking from a sure place - as if he knew something about the need for troops that Engell, and even Hux, did not. Or perhaps he was simply playing mind tricks.

In the end, it was decided that an exploratory party should be sent ahead to Hutt Space, with an offer of partnership (an offer which would almost certainly be rejected) followed by a larger force. It took almost the whole cycle to reach Kylo Ren and get his approval. It was as if the man considered his position as Supreme Leader to be a side job. This would always be the way, Hux thought bitterly, as long as Force Users who choose their sorcery over their duty continued to rule. At least Snoke had had the sense to delegate. 

Keeping away thoughts of Poe Dameron got markedly harder in the evening, when he retired to his chambers. As he sat over his simple supper - a glass of wine and two ration portions (on the orders of the droid in the medbay who had warned him he had lost a dangerous amount of weight) the whole awful conversation replayed over and over in his head, like a holo on a loop.  _ I thought I saw a decent man in you before, but you know what? I think I just saw another warm body on a cold fucking ice planet _ . Hux didn’t need to have seen Dameron’s face to imagine his eyes - deep and dark and cold as black holes. And he heard his own cruel words -  _ we could never have been anything but a waste of each other’s time  _ \- had he meant it? Was it true? Did it matter? Stop. These weren’t questions worth asking. Poe Dameron certainly wasn’t wasting his time agonizing over Hux, so why should he mourn this pathetic, ill-fated little thing they had had? What was done was done and it was cruel and it was hard but it was the right thing to do. His feelings for Dameron, whatever they were, were an infection that must be cut out before it could spread further. 

But even as he banished thoughts of the other man, other worries cropped up in their place, gnawing at his heart and his brain, refusing to be stuffed down. He thought of the natives in their warrens, of the mine foreman, of strange Mr. Vanus. Had they seen their doom coming? Had they felt it? In the weeks leading up to the firing of Starkiller Base, and the months that followed, when guilt crept into his mind he had often reassured himself it was a quick death. The inhabitants of the Hosnian system hadn’t suffered much. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop the dreams - nightmares where he burned to death in a moment that felt like a millennium. But even if they had suffered, he had told himself, it was worth it. Their suffering was nothing compared to the suffering he was preventing by toppling the New Republic. Their sacrifice was another reason he must win - to make their deaths mean something. He told himself it was the same with this planet. It was a tragedy - a horrible thing that all those innocents had to die, but he would avenge them when he killed Pryde and Kylo Ren, when he brought peace and order to the galaxy. It did no good to dwell on guilt. What was done was done and all he could do was make sure it wasn’t done for nothing 

Besides, he couldn’t let what was past and set in stone distract him from what still demanded his attention: Allegiant General Pryde’s datapad, and the file labelled Sloane, Rae. He hadn’t been able to force himself to focus the previous night - had hardly managed to force his legs to carry him to the bed. Now though, he had a single purpose, and he would not rest, would not think of anything else until he knew what Pryde was hiding.

___

_ The Absolution,  _ 19 Years Before

The laboratories were strictly off limits to cadets after hours. Normally, Armitage wouldn’t dream of breaking the rules - but tonight - for that boy - he could make an exception. The threat of being caught, of his father’s rage, it all felt impossibly far away. He had stolen his father’s code cylinders as the old man lay asleep - drunk and dead to the world. Those would get him into the laboratories and he’d be back to return them long before Brendol Hux awoke to find them missing. Armitage crept down the halls, datapad under his arm. He had long ago memorized the patrol routes of the troopers on the sleep cycle shift, mostly to avoid CD-0922 who his father had taken to calling by the nickname Cardinal. 

He still couldn’t believe this was happening. For so long he had thought he was invisible - nothing to anybody. Who could want him - even as a friend - weak willed and weak bodied - a disappointment to his father even despite his top marks - even Sloane had left him. But now - somehow - he had been seen. Someone had seen him, this effulgent, charismatic, endlessly fascinating boy had seen him - and instead of reacting with disgust, the other boy had shown interest - asked for his help. It was miraculous - unbelievable. Every few steps he had to ask himself if this was real - if he was not dreaming all of this. Even as he rounded the corner to the laboratory, there was a part of him that was sure he’d find the place empty.

As the doors hissed open - sensing his father’s code cylinders - Armitage pushed his hair back further from his face. He had spent the whole evening gelling it back and then mussing it again, trying to strike the perfect balance of tidy and casual. He wanted to look good without looking like he wanted to look good.

“Hey, Hux!” The Mistake was waiting, sitting on top of one of the desks, legs spread like he owned the whole room. His grin was even more dazzling in the dim light of the half-lit laboratory. 

“Hello.” Armitage raised his hand in a strange half-wave.

He wasn’t sure where to put himself, with The Mistake sitting on top of the desk. Ultimately he settled uneasily into the chair, and set his datapad down beside the other boy’s bent leg.

At first everything went exactly as he had expected - Armitage ran through the topics likely to be on the test - giving The Mistake simple sample problems and explaining his mistakes as they arose. But somewhere along the process of explaining the rudimentary basics of hyperspace travel he became aware that the other boy’s focus had drifted from the text on his datapad to Armitage’s face. 

“Sorry,” Hux stammered, looking up and meeting The Mistake’s eyes, “did I lose you? I can go back if you -”

“You know I didn’t just ask you to come here and teach me physics,” the other boy said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh.” Armitage’s brow creased. “Then what?”

“I mean, the physics lesson is good - I need it if I’m going to pass that exam - but I also wanted to get you alone. You’re always alone, but there’s always people around, you know?”

Armitage nodded dumbly.  _ What was happening? _

“I see you watching me, you know,” The Mistake said, “in our lessons - in the halls.”

A mortified flush was spreading across Armitage’s face, his ears buzzing with the rush of blood. “I’m sorry!” He managed, though he felt as though his throat was closing.

But The Mistake’s hand was on his wrist - tracing the length of his arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” He must be dreaming! There must be some sort of catch - his brain simply wouldn’t allow something like this to be real and yet -

“You’re not so bad to look at yourself, Hux,” the other boy went on, “I’d look more often but you know - you sit behind me.”

“Right.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you Hux?”

The question knocked the breath out of him. “I-”

“Maybe that’s something I can tutor you in - in exchange for all your help with physics.” 

And then it happened - before Armitage knew it was happening. The Mistake leaned down, bracing himself on the desk with one hand as he pulled Armitage forward by the collar with the other. His lips were hot and tasted like just the faintest trace of an artificially sweetened stimdrink. It was hard to breathe with his collar in the other boy’s fist. His throat burned - but maybe it was supposed to hurt - it didn’t matter, his heart was a supernova exploding - his eyes had fluttered shut - he didn’t even mind when he felt the other boy’s tongue in his mouth, though he hadn’t expected it. For the first time in so long he felt real - not just seen but touched - kissed - he was a whole human being and somebody else found him worthy of this! 

“Lights, one hundred percent.” A gleeful female voice from across the room. 

It was so bright and the grip on his collar had suddenly disappeared and he was falling - his chair was falling and the floor rushed up to meet him before he even knew what was happening. As the back of his head struck the durasteel floor he just caught a glimpse of The Mistake wiping his mouth with an expression of disgust.

“Never again!” He was saying. “Never again, not even on a dare!”

“Oh come on -” a girl came into view - a sallow girl with sunken cheeks and long, dark hair wound up in two braids. She was one of the friends The Mistake was always whispering to in class and chatting with in the hallway. “Wasn’t Hux a good kisser? He sure looked like he was enjoying it. See look, I got the whole thing on holo-”

“Delete that!” The Mistake protested, reaching for his friend, trying to bat something from her hands. “I don’t want holo evidence going around of me kissing that freak!”

Slowly, Armitage sat up, rubbing the back of his throbbing head. His ears were still ringing - with the kiss - the fall - the betrayal - he wasn’t sure.

“You,” he glared up at The Mistake through eyes that stubbornly refused to focus.  _ Please, by the void don’t be tears _ , he thought,  _ this is bad enough without crying _ . “You tricked me!”

The Mistake scoffed. “Come on Hux, with those top marks I thought you’d be clever. Did you really think I liked you?”

“Then why?”

“Ava here dared me to kiss you.”

“Correction,” the girl chimed in, “I dared you to kiss the saddest cadet in our cohort - you just picked Hux.”

“Well I was right, wasn’t I? I mean look at him!”

Armitage’s cheeks burned so hot they hurt. His throat felt tight, but not like before - not with that excited breathlessness - it was closing in on itself, collapsing. “You won’t get away with this,” he hissed through gritted teeth, looking between the two of them with murder in his eyes. If only he had a blaster - no that would be too quick - a dull knife would be better. “You’ll pay I - I’ll -”

“You’ll what?” The girl - Ava - leaned over him with a mocking grin. “What’ll you do? Run back to your father? Tell General Hux you got your feelings hurt kissing a boy? He’d love that wouldn’t he? Send you to class tomorrow covered head to toe in bruises. Or you could go crying back to Arkanis and tell your slut mother. She’d be so disappointed - I mean she sure knew how to kiss, didn’t she? Guess you don’t take after her.”

“Shut up!” Armitage lunged forward, but he couldn’t find his balance, he missed the girl and stumbled into another desk. Both the other cadets were laughing, The Mistake flashing that smile that suddenly didn’t seem so dazzling at all.

“You should count yourself lucky, Hux,” Ava said, “this is probably the only kiss you’ll ever get.”

The Mistake heaved himself off the desk and strode toward the door, the girl in toe, still doubled over with laughter.

“Thanks for the physics lesson, anyway.” The Mistake said, before disappearing into the hall.

Armitage stood alone in the room, bracing himself against the desk and panting heavily. He felt more real than he had in years - more seen than he had in his entire life. He wasn’t invisible - he wasn’t a ghost or a speck of dust - he was a human being, and he was utterly, terribly alone, and that was infinitely worse. There was no one in the galaxy he could turn to when his heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. No one who wouldn’t ridicule him or beat him, or ignore him altogether. But it was better this way, he told himself, better to go it alone, better to learn these lessons young before he made the mistake of trusting someone with something truly important. He tipped his head back, staring into the blinding whiteness of the overhead light, and wished the future would hurry up and come.

___

_ The Steadfast _ , 7 Weeks Before

Breaking Pryde’s encryption was exactly as simple as Hux had expected, but what he found proved infinitely more baffling. There were only two lines of text in the document:

_ The Grand Admiral’s drives have all been wiped. Everything is lost - replaced with the following: _

**R3 R1 Y2 B6 Y1 B5 // EXCEPTIONAL** _ (if code, unknown; if password, purpose unknown) Investigation has proven fruitless. _

So Pryde had searched Sloane’s personal computers after she went missing - not necessarily incriminating - it was standard procedure to search the tech of personnel when they disappeared or died - but why had it fallen to Pryde to do it and not the FOSB? Pryde who was not even stationed on the same ship as the Grand Admiral. That was highly irregular. And irregular did not even begin to cover the code - if it was a code at all. It was so simple and yet by its simplicity it defied all interpretation. If it was a password to a computer it was long gone now, and Pryde’s notes seemed to indicate that he had tried that. Were they coordinates? No - the format wasn’t right. And what did EXCEPTIONAL mean? His first thought was that it might be the name of a ship - but there was no such ship in the First Order’s fleet nor, as far as he knew, had there been a ship called  _ the Exceptional _ in the Imperial fleet. He looked from the datapad to his computer, and ran an archives search, confirming his suspicion that there was no such ship on record. Neither did the strange sequence of letters and numbers turn up anything that seemed relevant. 

He rose from his seat and began to pace the length of his quarters. They were smaller than the ones he had kept on  _ the Finalizer _ . The kitchen, living area, and bedroom had been compressed into a single room and it took no time at all to cross it with his long, anxious strides. Even the office, separated by a heavy door, was smaller than his old one. Anyone who met with him there would know at a glance that he had been demoted. That was part of Ren’s plan, of course. To humiliate him, to make him small, even down to his quarters. He ran disheartened fingers over the surface of his desk as he turned and began to stride back the other way. 

He had let himself believe for a brief moment when he had found the file, that things were going to change, that somehow Grand Admiral Sloane had left him some secret message, some guidance, anything at all - that she could somehow still make everything alright again. He still remembered being five years old, watching her strike his father and knock him down. It had seemed impossible that Brendol Hux, huge and terrifying, could be brought low, and yet she had done it. If she could do that, he had thought, she could do anything. Some small part of him had still believed that well after he was old enough to know how ridiculous it was. Even when she had disappeared he had clung to the hope that nothing could destroy Grand Admiral Sloane. Whatever obstacle she had run into on her mission, she would overcome it eventually and come back to the Order, come back and make everything right again. 

But things were so broken now, Hux thought bitterly, reaching his kitchen again and pouring himself another glass of wine, that even the great Rae Sloane might struggle to fix it. What could she do - what could anyone do against Kylo Ren? He had been a fool to hope for some kind of answer from a twenty year old file. R3 R1 Y2 B6 Y1 B5 // EXCEPTIONAL - what kind of final message was that? Maybe it wasn’t a message at all, maybe it was only the product of a glitch when she had wiped the computers, maybe she had left an intentionally meaningless string of letters and numbers to throw off anyone who might try to investigate.

He stood before the great trapezoidal viewport that took up most of one wall of his quarters and took a slow sip of his wine. They were out of the Unknown Regions now, and there were stars all around him - millions of them - just as Sloane had promised all those years ago. And yet he felt no closer to victory, no more secure. And there was his own gaunt, despondent-looking reflection among those stars, a translucent white spectre in the vacuum. Poe Dameron was out there somewhere among those stars - fighting for his lost causes. Had he already banished the thought of Hux from his mind? And what would Rae Sloane say if she knew that her protege was pining after some rebel scum? 

Somewhere in his melancholy, Hux polished off most of the bottle. He was half drunk and sentimental and as lost as ever. He wandered back to his desk where the little black comm still lay discarded from the night before. He thought about launching it out the airlock or feeding it to the incinerator. He thought about using it. No. Terrible idea. All of those were terrible ideas. 

He took the device and carried it over to his bed, kneeling down beside it and feeling for the loose panel in the wall. He had pried the panel off his first night in the new quarters - right after he had checked the place for bugs or cameras. It wasn’t ideal keeping his sentimental objects in enemy territory, but he had no choice. Carefully, he removed the panel and set it down on the floor. There were his few precious things - the stone from Arkanis, the Chiss credit, the Parnassos beetle husk, Rae Sloane’s rank tiles. 

Rae Sloane’s rank tiles! Maybe it was a foolish notion - maybe he was more drunk than he thought, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it? Anything was worth a try now. He abandoned the comm and the wall panel on the floor beside the bed and snatched up the little plaque, hastening with it back to his desk.  _ Don’t you lose this,  _ she had told him,  _ hold onto it like your life depends on it - someday it might.  _ Could it be? R3 R1 Y2 B6 Y1 B5 - he squinted at the words on the datapad then back at the tiles. If this didn’t work, at least there would be no one here to see his shame. He would solve this alone, or else bury his failure in secret. He pressed down on the third red tile, then the first, the second yellow tile, the sixth blue, the first yellow, the fifth blue - his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t hear the faint click that followed. The top part of the plaque came loose, revealing a small compartment, and inside it, a little black drive, engraved with her personal insignia.

His breath caught in his throat. It really was a secret message - just for him. She must have trusted that some day, he would investigate her disappearance further, and find what she had left on her wiped computers, that he would have kept her rank tiles just as she had instructed him to. All those years of studying this thing, agonizing over it, wishing he knew why she had given it to him and knowing that there had to be some reason for it - all the while this drive had been there, waiting for him. What a fool he had been! If only he had been more thorough then, if only he had tried harder to get access to her files - if only he had been smarter. But he had this now, and he couldn’t bear to waste another second. He removed it gingerly, his fingers tracing the black plastisteel casing. She had been the last person to touch this, twenty years ago, when she hid it here for him. 

He inserted the drive into his personal computer, and a password screen appeared before him.  _ 0/3 attempts made _ , it read. He glanced at the datapad again. EXCEPTIONAL, he entered. The screen flashed red.  _ 1/3 attempts made _ , it now said. Of course it wouldn’t be so simple, Sloane had gone through this much trouble to hide her message, she wouldn’t just write the password out plain. Exceptional had to be a clue - a clue for him, specifically. He recalled another thing she had said to him that last time he saw her -  _ You’ve been an exceptional boy - since the day I met you when you were five years old.  _ Could it be? Remembering the praise, the slight frailty of her voice when she said it to him - it made his heart ache. He pressed his lips together tightly and tried to bite back his rising emotion as he typed in the words ARMITAGE HUX.

The screen flashed green - he was in. Before he had time to process what that meant, a familiar face appeared - ghostly in holographic form, but undeniably  _ her. _

“Hello, Armitage,” said Rae Sloane, her tone solemn, “You’ve come this far, I knew you would. But now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to do the impossible.”


	18. Chapter 18

_ The Steadfast  _ 7 Weeks Before

“Hello, Armitage,” said Rae Sloane, her holographic gaze as intense as it ever was in person, “you’ve come this far, I knew you would. But now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to do the impossible. I wish I didn’t have to ask you at all, but if you are seeing this, that means I failed, and if the First Order is to survive, this information - this mission cannot die with me. I do not know how much time has passed since I recorded this. I hid it well enough there’s a good chance you’re all grown up. The longer it's been, the more urgent this is. What I am about to tell you is going to sound like sedition - maybe even treason - but I need you to listen, and trust me.”

Hux instinctively lowered the volume of the recording, casting a nervous glance around before he leaned in closer to listen, trying to hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“There is something rotten at the heart of the First Order, Armitage, something secret and sinister. There are orders coming from beyond Supreme Leader Snoke - from someone or something else, far deeper in the Unknown Regions. The Supreme Leader sees them, and a few others - Pryde for one - I think Rax was in on it too, back at the very beginning. Whoever is sending these orders has been careful to keep them secret all these years, even from me, but I’ve found traces - deleted messages, transmissions from places that should be uninhabited, funds appearing and disappearing. I’ve been investigating this for years - and you’ve been helping, though you didn’t know it. 

“A few years ago, I had you deliver a drive to General Pryde - the drive contained spyware, and I was able to gain access to his private files. He was corresponding with … someone … the messages were wiped, but the coordinates of the other party were saved. It’s the same area, somewhere deep in the unknown regions - deeper than we ever went, at least officially. If the First Order is to survive, this secret agenda has to come out, the conspirators have to be exposed and dealt with. I am going to investigate the origins of the communications - to try and uncover the truth before it’s too late and the Order is coopted and corrupted by … whatever this outside force is. To cover my tracks I’ll be travelling indirectly - I’ve chartered safe passage through Chiss Space by way of Ansion. 

“If you are watching this, that means I never made it - or never made it back. That means this work has to fall to you. I only hope it isn’t too late. This drive contains all my research, including what you helped me get from Pryde. Use it. Find out what is going on and put a stop to it. I’m sorry to ask this of you, I really am. It’s dangerous work - if I’m gone, I won’t be the first person killed or disappeared to cover this thing up. Cover your tracks carefully, Armitage, trust no one in the First Order, do not use the HoloNet to investigate, don’t use First Order comms to discuss it. Until you know the scope of the threat, you must assume that everyone else is a potential enemy. 

“If you are caught before you can expose them, they’ll call you a traitor - they might have told you that I’m a traitor. I only hope you had the sense not to believe them. I told you once, that you can be good or do good, but not both. I’m choosing to be good, to act for the good of the First Order, even if it means appearing evil to my own side. I need you to be brave enough to do the same. I need you to be patient and clever and careful - just like you always are. I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe in you and trust you absolutely. In this whole infected Order, you might be one of the only decent people and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of what I know you will do. Save the First Order, Armitage, save the galaxy.”

In the silence that followed the end of the recording, Hux hardly noticed the tears that had begun to run, silently down his face. He couldn’t begin to name what emotion he felt - there were too many all clamoring within him at once. 

She had felt so real - even translucent and faded as she was - it was her face, her dark, determined eyes, the same warm tone of voice under a clipped accent - she even looked at him the same way she had all those years ago, with hope, as if somehow, unlike everyone else in the galaxy, she did not consider him a lost cause. For all these years he had allowed himself to believe that she was alive or at least not dead - not in a real permanent way. Now though, he felt that desperate belief slipping through his fingers. It was still possible - perhaps she wasn’t killed, perhaps she was imprisoned somewhere. But she had seemed so sure that if she was not successful, that meant she was dead.

There was grief for her, welling up inside him, and grief for someone else too - for the boy she was speaking to - a boy who was long dead and buried deep inside of the man he became. Would she still have such faith in him if she could see him now? If she knew everything he had done - and everything he had been too much of a coward to do - would she still say with such confidence that she trusted him to be brave, and do the right thing? Surely she wouldn’t. How could she? What was left to trust after he had traded so much of himself in order to survive? 

And then there was what it was she was asking. This secret evil Sloane had found festering at the heart of the First Order, it went as far up as the Supreme Leader (at least the old Supreme Leader) and as far back as Gallius Rax and the founding of the Order. How could he possibly face such a thing? What could he do alone against something so vast? So insidious? Hux had always hoped to protect the First Order and save the galaxy, but he had always planned to do it with an army behind him, with weapons at his command and so much power that no one would dare touch him - but alone, against an evil that lurked within his own side? How could he do anything? 

Then out of the panic, anger hardened hot and tight in his chest. How could Sloane ask this of him? How could she have left him this message when he was fifteen and put this massive burden on his shoulders? Even now, at thirty-five, as a general, it was too much. He was already one misstep away from being killed - if anyone caught wind that he had so much as seen this recording, it would be the end for him. Sloane was asking him to die - to give his life for the same cause that seemed to have taken hers - and for what? How could he succeed where the great Rae Sloane had failed? There was only failure and death if he took on this mission. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right!

But it was Sloane. Sloane had asked him to take up her mantle - to avenge her - she trusted him to do it. The anger was dying down now, as reason took its place. If there really was a sinister force controlling the First Order from deep within the Unknown Regions then nothing else he did mattered - what good was power in an organization controlled by some distant puppet master with strings he wasn’t even allowed to see? And how could he serve a First Order that would disappear the great Grand Admiral Rae Sloane? That wasn’t the Order he believed in - it wasn’t the one he had killed for. If this conspiracy was successful, then every great thing, and every horrible thing he had ever done would be for nothing, then Sloane would have died for nothing. No - he couldn’t allow it. Sloane was right - he had to finish what she had started. He had to save the First Order; its mission was too important for him to allow it to be corrupted. It might be impossible, but there was nothing else to do but to do it.

At last he became cognisant of the traitor tears on his face and wiped them away at once. There was no point crying. Sloane wouldn’t want him to cry. As the roar of his emotions finally quieted to a manageable level, he closed the recording and began looking over the other files on the drive. Sloane’s work was thorough, if not complete. Most of what she had were ghosts - traces of deleted messages that betrayed only the barest information about the senders - but there were those strange coordinates - further out in the Unknown Regions than the First Order had ever gone - further than any one had ever gone and returned from. There were messages to and from General Pryde. If Pryde knew, and Snoke had known, Hux reasoned, Kylo Ren must know too. Pryde and Ren must be in on it together, scheming with whoever this was in the Unknown Regions. 

He would need hard evidence if he was going to bring this all down - proof of what had happened to Sloane that he could tie irrefutably to the conspirators within the Order, he would need to know who or what was out there giving secret orders and either kill them or bring them to justice. His fingers twitched towards the touch screen, aching to begin work, but Sloane’s warning still rang in his ears - _ trust no one in the First Order, do not use the HoloNet to investigate, don’t use First Order comms to discuss it  _ \- so what was he to do? How could he begin his research if he couldn’t use any of the tools he had at hand or rely on any of his colleagues? The thought of doing this all alone was crushing - surely there must be someone who could help him - Opan perhaps? No, it never did to trust one’s assassins too much. Mitaka? Surely Mitaka couldn’t be corrupted by this conspiracy. Surely he was loyal. But Sloane had said not to trust anyone in the First Order. He was alone in this, just as he was in all things.

Hux hung his head and rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. He felt a headache coming on - his brain rebelling against all this new, terrifying information. The chrono on his desk told him it was nearly time to start the day cycle. With everything he had uncovered that night, sleep had completely slipped his mind. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes from the day before. With a sigh, he pushed himself back from his desk and trudged back towards his refresher. He would have to put all of this on hold while he performed his duties for the day - he hadn’t taken a day off once in all his time serving as a general, to do so now would only arouse suspicion. 

In the refresher he showered and shaved, and took a painkiller and a stim together. The droid in the medbay had cautioned him against mixing medications, but it was the only way he could function under such pressure. 

_ I am General Armitage Hux _ , he told himself, glaring with bloodshot eyes at his reflection -  _ I am the starkiller, I have destroyed worlds, and now I am going to save the First Order - the whole galaxy - and I will do it alone, because there is no one else who can. _

Before he left his quarters, Hux carefully ejected the drive from his computer and put it, Sloane’s rank tiles, and Pryde’s old datapad away in his hiding spot behind the loose panel. He cast one last look around to be sure there was no evidence lying around out in the open. He’d long ago had the cleaning droids stop coming. He could keep his own quarters clean without risking being spied upon. Still, this was Pryde's ship, there was no telling who or what might come poking around his quarters when he was out. Better to assume nothing was private. 

He took his breakfast in the mess hall, at a table near a viewport. Eating in the mess always brought back unfortunate memories from his days as a cadet, always alone at the table. Back then he had had to work to convince himself he didn't mind the solitude, now he was grateful for it. He studied the stars as he sipped his caf and picked at the flavorless protein cube on his tray. How far had Rae Sloane gotten? Had she made it to Ansion? Into the Unknown Regions and through Chiss space? He had never known anyone to attempt to enter that territory, but neither had he heard of any hostile encounters. If she made it that far, could she have made it all the way to those mysterious coordinates? And how would he ever find out? She had taken her shuttle - an old imperial lamda - but she would have switched vehicles at Ansion, if not even sooner. How was he supposed to look into any of this if he couldn't trust the HoloNet or any of his colleagues? He could hire a bounty hunter - but that was foolish. He needed someone careful, someone to do thorough research, not start blasting and make a mess of things. 

“General Hux!” 

He nearly spilled caf down his front at the urgent voice of General Engell.

“Is this seat taken?” The woman gestured to the spot directly opposite Hux.

“No,” he said, gesturing at the chair, “take it.” 

Now this was irregular. Hux rarely spoke to his fellow members of the Supreme Council outside of official meetings. On the  _ Finalizer  _ he regularly dined with officers to build trust and morale but here, on the  _ Steadfast _ , under Kylo Ren’s leadership, trust and morale were hardly a priority. Officers were rivals, not comrades. But here was Engell, sitting across from him, awkwardly mixing sweetener packets into a large cup of tarine tea.

“I'm sorry to bother you over your breakfast,” she said, but I've got a full day, and I'm sure you do too.”

Hux nodded his affirmation. He had back to back meetings all day, and the all important mystery to get back to afterward.

“First of all, I did want to say, I’m glad to see you returned from your kidnapping ordeal unharmed. It’s good to have you back.”

She was trying to flatter him, to pretend as if she actually gave a damn whether he lived or died in order to win him over for something.

“Thank you,” said Hux, flashing a half-smile as if he really believed her. “Is there something I can help you with, General Engell?”

“You remember of course, at the meeting yesterday, Allegiant General Pryde's comment about trooper recruitment not being a priority.”

“I do.” 

So Engell was coming to him with her concerns about Pryde. Perhaps she was banking on his dislike of the Allegiant General - trusting that he'd keep her frustrations a secret, maybe throw his weight in on her side at the next meeting. Hux’s vote didn't count for as much as it once had but it still counted for something. 

“I trust his wisdom of course,” she said “after all he's closer than anyone else to the Supreme Leader. But it is ...odd isn't it? Surely if we’re about to embark on a new campaign the Stormtrooper Program ought to be a top priority.”

“It did strike me as an odd choice.” Hux allowed, choosing his words very carefully. “Perhaps he expects to find a great many new recruits in Hutt Space, as I said in the meeting-”

“All due respect general, but I don't think he is, despite what he said yesterday.” Her tone was shockingly genuine and urgent.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well I was reviewing the budgets with my captains last night,” Engell said, leaning closer as if what she was saying was some great secret between them, “and funding’s been slashed. I wasn't consulted at all - I wondered - did you hear anything about this?”

Hux was sitting forward now too, anger flaring up in his stomach. “No, no one consulted me about a budget cut. Where did the decision come from?” No one should be able to tamper with funding for the Stormtrooper Program but himself and Engell. No one but -

“It came straight from the Supreme Leader.” Engell said, looking around furtively. 

Hux could say nothing to that - do nothing but raise his eyebrows in shock. 

“Supreme Leader Ren himself cut the budget?” Hux was surprised the Supreme Leader even looked at the budgets - he didn't seem like he had a head for numbers, or the patience.

“So it said,” Engell pursed her thin lips and took a sip of tea. “But I … I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Hux repeated.

“I don't understand the reasoning behind it.” Engell was treading in truly dangerous territory now - questioning the Supreme Leader out loud, and to a fellow member of the Supreme Council no less. 

“Far be it from me to guess at the Supreme Leader's grand plans,” Hux said, toeing the line of sarcasm and sincerity. 

“Of course,” Engell agreed, nodding hastily. “Still I wondered - you see more of the Supreme leader than most of us, and you seem to have some kind of rapport, given your time serving together on Starkiller. I don't suppose you'd consider putting a word in - I'd bring it to a vote in the council but he never attends the meetings in person, you know. And I'd like to get his ear directly.”  _ Not through Pryde _ , was the implication she left hanging between them. 

“You want me to raise this issue with the Supreme Leader?” Hux raised his eyebrows.

“I understand you might be busy,” she said, “but I fear we must do whatever is necessary to save the program - your father's legacy -”

Engell once again betrayed her political ineptitude - bringing Brendol Hux’s legacy up as an incentive.

“I will do what I can,” he said cooly.  _ I’ll try and get a word in between the bouts of force choking _ , he thought.

“Thank you,” she said with a tight smile that might actually be genuine. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye in our leadership of the Stormtrooper Program, but I know we both want what’s best for it, and most of all we want to see it survive.”

“Of course,” Hux agreed with a tight nod.

“Well,” Engell slapped her knee brusquely and began to stand, “I’d better be off then. Busy day.”

“Indeed.” Hux offered an approximation of a smile and took another sip of caf.

As Engell disappeared with her tea in hand, Hux’s forced smile stretched in a wry smirk. Strange times called for strange allies, he supposed. Still, his fellow general was right, this whole situation was highly irregular. Was this some strange order from deep within the unknown regions? Or was he becoming paranoid - seeing conspiracies everywhere? With the Supreme Leader as elusive as he was, it would be difficult to confront him, even if he did wish to do as Engell had asked.

Most of his day’s meetings passed without so much as a mention of the Supreme Leader. The man was practically a ghost, even within the Order he supposedly ran, and so it was necessary to conduct most business in his absence. Hux met with a pair of architects proposing a new superweapon in the morning (the concept was good, but the design had a gaping fatal flaw), and a trade delegation in the afternoon, hashing out the best method to serve a whole swath of new worlds brought under First Order Control. Engell’s concerns echoed in the back of his mind all day, overshadowed only by the constant, painful gripping of paranoia on his brain. Who around him was part of this sinister conspiracy that Sloane had tasked him with uncovering? Was the drive and the data it contained safe in his quarters? Was someone creeping, right that moment, into his private rooms to expose him for treason? Could he afford to be wasting time in meetings? Was it already too late? What could he possibly do one way or the other?

As soon as his last meeting was over, he made straight for his quarters. Sloane’s message was far more important than Engell’s concerns. What was a budget cut compared to the fate of the whole Order? Indeed, he would have put the whole thing behind him if he hadn’t, purely by coincidence, spotted Kylo Ren, hurrying down the hall, deeper into the bowls of the ship, thankfully without his usual escort of knights. Hux didn’t have a meeting or an appointment with the Supreme Leader, and he might not get one for a long time. It was now or never. His first impulse was to avoid the man entirely, Engell be damned, but he couldn’t so easily dismiss Phasma’s legacy, or even Cardinal’s. Their work was wasted too, if Ren did away with the Stormtrooper Program. He felt both his old captains’ presences when he saw the Supreme Leader, finding his lungs supplied air to speak, whether he liked it or not.

“Sir!” He called after the black-robed figure - “Supreme leader, a word if you would.”

Kylo Ren whipped round and the air crackled with power. Already Hux was beginning to regret his choice.

“What do you want, General Hux?” Ren demanded, voice garbled through the vocoder but no less frustrated.

Hux searched his mind for memories of a time when it was not like this - when they had been co-commanders and rivals, but not enemies. He thought of when they had been marooned on that void forsaken planet when their shuttle had been sabotaged - Ren had saved his life then, and he had saved Ren’s. He thought of Starkiller, when both of them had stood on that grand stage to watch it fire. He forced down his hatred and distrust, and tried to focus on what little respect he did have for the other man - he was a strong fighter, he inspired loyalty in his knights, killing Snoke certainly showed initiative.

And for what little it was worth the other man did seem to loosen his posture.

Hux seized on the moment, “I apologize for the intrusion, Supreme Leader.” He insisted. “Just one question.”

“Fine,” said the other man, “quickly, I don’t have time for this.”

“The Stormtrooper Program,” he blurted out, “the budget - General Engell pointed it out to me - you’ve cut it. Why? I respect your choice, I only want to understand it.” He hardly recognized his own voice - the tone bolder than he had used in a long time, especially with Kylo Ren. 

For a moment it felt almost like the old days - almost like they were co-commanders again - very nearly equals. Ren studied him through the mask, his expression inscrutable. 

“I never cut the budget for your little program,” he said, “I haven’t even seen the budget. General Engell must be confused.”

And it was strange, but Hux genuinely believed he was telling the truth. It wasn’t that the other man sounded sure and steady, rather that he sounded almost as confused as Hux felt.

“Thank you for your time, Supreme Leader.” He said, bowing his head. He had been exceptionally lucky to escape this meeting unharmed, he wouldn’t risk pushing further - asking how the order to slash the budgets had come directly from him if he didn’t give it himself. “Apologies for the interruption.” 

Kylo Ren said nothing in return as he strode away, leaving Hux more unsure than ever. All the more reason to get to the bottom of this and oust Ren and Pryde and the rest of them. And how was he going to oust them? His thoughts returned to the task at hand as he made his way back to his quarters, knees almost buckling under the weight of what he had to do. 

He was not afforded the luxury of a doorwatch droid on the  _ Steadfast _ . If someone had been in his quarters while he was out, he’d have no way of knowing, not until he was already inside, where they might still be waiting. His hands were shaking as they gripped one another behind his back, generating uncomfortable friction as leather was forced against leather. But as the door hissed open for his code strips, he found the room just as he had left it, lights dimmed, loose panel secured beneath the bed. It was only when he pried it off and made sure that everything was still exactly where he had put it that morning that he let himself breathe. He felt as though he had just run the length of the ship. 

At least when he had faced the mystery of his kidnapping, he had had Dameron for company.  _ Another warm body on a cold fucking ice planet _ . He wondered what the other man would say to this. He’d probably find the whole thing immensely satisfying - the First Order tearing itself apart without the Resistance having to do anything. Perhaps he’d smirk, or perhaps he’d take it seriously, make one of those infuriatingly astute observations he always seemed to pull out of thin air. If he cared enough, he’d know just what to do. For the first time since Sloane’s message had knocked everything else from his head, he felt Dameron’s absence - felt the cold lack of an arm around him - the crushing silence of his quarters. He felt the black hole in the pit of his stomach, hungry and empty and desolate, threatening to make him collapse in on himself. Despite everything that had been said - everything he wanted so desperately to believe - he had never felt so whole as he had with Poe Dameron - and it was agonizing to know that now that he had felt that wholeness, he could never be satisfied with his cold, incomplete self ever again.

And then out of the desolation, an idea came to him -  _ strange times called for strange allies _ . Even as the thought dawned on him, he despised himself for so much as considering it. What Sloane had asked him to do might look like treason but this - what he was considering actually  _ was _ treason. It went against everything he believed in - everything he believed he was. And yet … it was the first idea he’d had that could actually work. If he couldn’t trust anyone within the First Order, who was left? Was it treason to form alliances of necessity against a far more dangerous ally? Wasn’t the enemy of his enemy his friend? 

His fingers had found the comm, almost unconsciously, and caressed the smooth surface in short anxious strokes. More likely than not, Dameron wouldn’t even answer. He had probably incinerated his comm - obliterated it along with whatever thoughts he still had of Hux. But what if he didn’t?

He was sitting on the floor beside his bed, his tailbone pressing painfully against the durasteel. His knees protested as he stood, the comm in one had and Sloane’s drive in the other. What would she say if she could see him now? If she knew what he was considering? Sloane had worked with all sorts of unlikely allies in her day when it became absolutely necessary to do so. He remembered the stories she had told him, of thwarting a conspiracy within the Empire with the help of a pair of rebels - rebels she had later faced as enemies. She wasn’t a traitor for doing that. She was a hero - a hero and a survivor. Yes, Sloane would approve of this plan of his. Of course she would.

He poured himself a drink for courage, and took it with him to his desk. After a long breath and an even longer sip of his drink, he hit the button on the little comm to call Poe.

It was a long time before Dameron answered, so long that Hux had nearly given up hope. Perhaps this was a fool’s errand after all.

“Hux?” The other man sounded more confused than anything. “Is that really you?”

“Yes,” he answered, tone clipped so as not to betray the emotion that had bubbled up in his throat the moment he heard the familiar voice. “It’s me. Are you alone?”

“Yeah - yeah I am but Hux I - I wanted to say - the way we left things -”

“Don’t.” Hux cut him off sharply. “What’s done is done. This is more important than that. I,” the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he’d ever uttered them before - it felt so wrong, he was as likely to be sick as he was to get the sentence out but he pushed though - “I need your help. I need you to look into something for me, something it isn’t safe for me to look into myself - and I - I’m willing to trade for it. Information. Top secret.” 

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly late update this week, but a long one! As always thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos, it really means a lot~

Mercurial Swift’s Ship, 30 Years Before 

There were no viewports in the cargo hold of Mercurial Swift’s ship. There was no furniture either, and barely enough room for Armitage, his father, Deedee, and the bags. They all sat on the floor, Armitage as far away from his father as he could physically be, nestled between Deedee and the bags. He was tired to the bone, and hungry and damp from the rain on Arkanis, lying with his head nestled in the crook of his arm, too exhausted to move and too uneasy to sleep. His wrist was still aching terribly from how he had been dragged, roughly by his father the whole way to Swift’s ship. Waves of anger and tension were coming off of Brendol Hux. His face was red, and seemingly growing redder by the minute as if he were a reactor just on the cusp of melting down.

Swift has promised him he would like being offworld, but so far he didn’t fancy it one bit. First the ship had rumbled and shaken and the lights had flickered precariously, then everything had gone still - stiller than he knew anything could be. There was no sound of wind, no drag of air against the body of the ship. He wouldn’t have known they were moving at all if it wasn’t for the humming of the engines coming up through the floor. Even so, he thought, it was too quiet, and too still. In the near silence, a horrible knowledge loomed over him like a bloodthirsty monster - one which would gobble him up if he thought too hard about it - about how Arkanis and the Empire and everything that seemed right and normal and safe in the universe was gone forever. Time had swallowed everything up and spit him out adrift into an uncertain future -  _ no stop - don’t think about it! _

“Deedee?” The boy practically whispered, casting a wary eye at his father.

“What is it Armitage?” The droid answered, her voice one safe, flat constant in the chaos.

“Where are we going?”

“To safety,” said Deedee.

“But  _ where _ ?” Armitage pushed, still keeping his voice as low as he possibly could.

“Mercurial Swift is bringing us to rendezvous with the Executor-class Star Dreadnaught  _ Ravager _ , and what remains of Imperial leadership.”

“And then what?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Armitage.” The droid cocked her head.

“Where are we going to live? Are the Rebels going to come and fight us? Will there be food there?”

“Oh would you shut up, you idiot boy!” Brendol Hux finally exploded in ruddy faced rage, snarling at Armitage like a rabid animal. “I can’t think with all your shrill, stupid questions!” 

His fist hit the metal floor of the cargo hold with a bang, sending the boy curling into himself.

“You’ll be lucky if we make it to the  _ Ravager _ , you’ll be lucky if the rebels don’t catch on and blow us to bits, or capture the ship and take us to prison.”

“I’m sorry, father,” he hung his head, trying to stop the tears from welling up behind his eyes. He’d only just managed to stop crying after the long arduous trek to the ship.

Brendol put his head in his hands and heaved a heavy sigh. Armitage had never seen his father so unravelled, so disordered. Commandant Hux always wore his hair slicked back, kept his uniform immaculately pressed. His voice, even when raised in anger, was always clipped and calculated. Now, it seemed as though the elder Hux was coming apart. His hair had come unfixed and was limp and damp and stuck to his forehead. Grey stubble had taken over his face like some blighted landscape, and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. 

As Armitage watched, he produced a flask from the pocket of his rumpled uniform and took a long drink from it. That at least seemed to calm him down. His posture relaxed a little, his eyes softened their focus.

“It’s the end of everything,” he said, the rage had leached out of his voice, leaving it vacant and hollow, “and I’m spending it in the company of a droid and a snivelling child.”

Armitage curled up tighter in his spot on the floor, listening to the hum of the engines and the crushing sound of nothing from outside. He didn’t want it to be the end of everything, he wanted there to be some solution waiting for them on this  _ Ravager,  _ something to put everything right again, but if his father said that this was the end, it really must be. 

Suddenly there was a bang on the ceiling. Armitage’s heart jumped into his throat as images of armed rebels storming the ship filled his mind. 

“We’re all clear,” it was Swift’s voice, Swift who had banged on the floor above, “you can come up now if you like.”

Armitage immediately sprung to his feet, eager to leave this hold and see what outer space really looked like, but he caught himself, and stopped half-way up, to glance at Deedee and his father for permission.

Brendol grunted despondently. “Go on,” he muttered, taking another long swig from his flask, “but don’t bother the bounty hunter. He came here to save our lives, not play nanny for an ill-behaved child.”

“Yes father,” Armitage nodded sharply, “thank you father.”

He wanted to sprint across the room and clamber up the ladder, but he forced himself to go slowly, respectfully, avoiding his father’s eye as he passed him.

“Hey kid,” Mercurial Swift turned round to give a half-smile as Armitage poked his head up through the hatch into the cockpit. “You said you’d never been offworld before, right? Well look at this.” He nodded to the viewport in front of him.

The boy hoisted himself out of the hatch, ignoring the protests of his wrist as he put his weight on it, and walked forward, almost in a dream as his eyes locked onto the sight before him. He had always supposed space must be like the night sky - dark and full of stars - but it was so much more than that. It was an ocean of velvet black stretching on forever until perspective flattened and fell apart, and there must have been a billion stars out there - and not just white they way they looked from the surface of Arkanis, but yellow and soft pink and deep red. Before this, the biggest thing he’d ever tried to conceive of was the sea on Arkanis, but this - all the water on his homeworld wouldn’t be a drop in this ocean. He felt at once filled to bursting with this vastness, and suffocatingly small and alone. 

“Does it really go on forever?” He breathed.

“It sure does,” said Swift, “far as anyone’s ever been, and further. Of course most of it’s empty. That’s why they call it ‘space’.”

“Oh.” Armitage didn’t know what to say to that. He imagined infinite nothing, or tried to. His mind couldn’t quite grasp it. There was something horrifying in that concept, something he didn’t dare examine too closely. 

“If you don’t touch anything, you can sit in the co-pilot’s chair and watch me make the jump to hyperspace,” Swift offered. “Just a few more minutes now.”

“Thank you sir,” Armitage said, finally remembering his manners, “I’d like that.”

Armitage took a seat in the chair beside Swift, his feet dangling awkwardly above the ground. At last he was able to tear his eyes away from the viewport long enough to ask another, more pressing question.

“Mister Swift, Sir?” He nervously regarded the bounty hunter in the pilot’s seat beside him, thinking of how his father had ordered him not to bother the man.

“What is it, kid?” Thankfully he sounded more bored than bothered.

“Why did you come and save me and my father?”

Swift’s brow furrowed as he studied the stars. “Some very important people in the Empire want your father for something, and they want you too. The orders were very clear that you needed to be here too.”

Something about the vagueness of that answer unsettled Armitage. “What do they want us for?”

The bounty hunter turned to look at Armitage dead on, delicate features twisted into a kind of uncomfortable forced smile. 

“Word to the wise, kid, sometimes when you don’t know something, it’s because you’re not supposed to know, and you’re better off not knowing and going along with it than asking questions. Half of being a bounty hunter’s knowing when it's better not to ask questions. The other half’s dealing with the consequences when you get it wrong.”

“Oh.” That did nothing to sooth Armitage’s nerves. 

After a long moment, where both of them turned back to the viewport with similar expressions of discomfort, Swift sighed and added: “I don’t know what they’ve got planned for you, but you’re in good hands with Sloane.”

“Who’s Sloane?” He asked, internally kicking himself for asking another question.

“I’m sure you’ll meet her when we get there.”

Armitage understood that this was to be the end of asking questions, at least for now.

“We’re just about to make the jump to hyperspace,” said Swift, “I guarantee you’ve never seen anything like this before. Just don’t stare at it too long or you’ll go mad.”

___

The  _ Steadfast,  _ 7 Weeks Before

Poe Dameron listened in silence as Hux played him Rae Sloane’s holo, only letting out the occasional hum or soft gasp in response to what she was saying. Every moment that the holo played, Hux felt a little weight lift off his shoulders. Dangerous as this all was, guilty as he felt, this secret had been suffocating him. And despite everything that had happened between him and Dameron, there was no one else in the Universe he could imagine turning to - though to be fair, practically speaking, he had no one else he  _ could  _ turn to.

“So you see,” he said, as the recording cut out, “I need to find out who or what is behind this, and I need proof of what happened to the Grand Admiral - irrefutable proof, if I’m to expose these traitors within the First Order and bring them to justice.”

“But you can’t solve it on your own.” Was that a hint of smugness in Poe’s voice?

“I  _ could _ solve it on my own,” Hux’s defensiveness kicked in reflexively, “but you heard her, the First Order’s HoloNet isn’t safe.”

“Sure, of course,” the other man acquiesced but Hux could hear the smirk still in his voice. “So you’ve come to the Resistance for help.”

“Desperate times … desperate measures.” He gestured half-heartedly as if Dameron could see him.  _ And it isn’t the Resistance I’m turning to _ , he thought,  _ it’s you. Just you. _

“Pretty bold of you to assume the Resistance would agree to help you at all, no matter what you’re offering in exchange.” His tone was more serious now, but not absolute. It wasn’t a hard rejection. 

“So is that a ‘no’ then?” Hux pushed. Dameron was beating around the bush - he was considering the offer but there was a sticking point and Hux would find out what.

“I guess I’m just wondering why I should help you help the First Order. The way I see it, it would be much better for the Resistance to just sit back and let the Order tear itself apart.” 

Of course. Dameron was a cunning man, he wasn’t foolish enough to do anything purely out of the goodness of his heart, good as it was. Hux could imagine him now, that sharp, clever gleam in his eye. But the general was prepared for that.

“This conspiracy may well be as old as the First Order itself. If it was going to tear itself apart don’t you think it would have done that by now?” Hux countered. “Besides, exposing this means bringing down Allegiant General Pryde. I’m sure your Resistance wouldn’t find that objectionable. And if Pryde knows, and Snoke knew, it’s reasonable to suspect Kylo Ren does too. You could help end his reign of terror.”

“What, so you can start yours?”

Hux scowled, more stung by Dameron’s barb than he cared to admit. “So that whoever leads the First Order does so honorably, and with the best intentions. We might be enemies, Dameron, it won’t mean an end to the war, but even you must know that that would be preferable.”

A pause, and then a sigh. “Do you honestly think that if you find the evidence you’re looking for you can just … what, put Pryde and the rest of them on trial? Do you think you can solve this, and get the justice you’re looking for from inside the First Order?”

_ I have to believe that _ , he thought  _ or there’s nothing to believe in at all _ . “Of course I do.” He said simply. “And of course there is a chance that I'll fail. Perhaps I’ll die before justice can take its course and nothing will change, but you’ll still have the information I’m offering in trade, so it's no skin off your nose.”

“Don’t say -” But he cut himself off and fell silent for a long moment. “What is this information you’re offering anyway?”

The poorly disguised interest in Dameron’s voice almost brought a smirk to Hux’s face but the guilt of what he was doing killed it before it could reach his lips. This was treason. People would die because of this - people loyal to him. But it was worth it, he reminded himself, their sacrifices would save the First Order, save millions - if not billions more lives. Besides, this strike on Hutt Space was a fool’s errand anyway. There would be losses no matter what, and as soon as he was in power he would call the whole thing off.

“Plans,” he said, “for an attack the Resistance would do well to be aware of. I can provide you with information on troop numbers, fire power, strategies, codes to gain access to the ships’ comms. I can hand you a victory, something your little band of rebels sorely needs. But of course, that is completely contingent on you agreeing to help me.”

“I’d have to talk to General Organa - the rest of Command - ”

“No,” Hux insisted, anxiety flaring up in his chest, “you can’t tell anyone. This can’t get out beyond the two of us. You never know who could be listening in. If this gets out somehow - if this is traced back to me -”

“I can’t just … agree to something like this on my own,” said Dameron. “How am I supposed to explain where I got this information on this strike you’re talking about? If I don’t say anything about the source, no one would trust the info. And even if I told them where it's from, they still wouldn’t trust it because no one in their right mind would believe that General Hux would inform on his own side. This might surprise you, but the Resistance has protocols. We take this stuff seriously.”

“When have you ever cared about protocols? You’re a smart man, Dameron, you’ll figure something out, you always do.”

Dameron fell silent for a long time - long enough for Hux to worry he might really reject the plan after all. 

“Okay,” he said at last, “okay, let’s say I agree to this, what then?”

“I’ll read you everything I have from Grand Admiral Sloane, and you’ll write it down. It’s safer than trying to send a copy. Once you’ve investigated, we’ll exchange information. The strike is planned for a month from now, it would behove you to be ready before then.”

“We’ll have to meet in person,” said Dameron.

“What?” Hux sat back in his desk chair, as if physically withdrawing from the suggestion. “Why?”

“Well you said yourself, the HoloNet’s too risky. In person is safer.”

“I thought your superiors had you grounded, training recruits for the month?” If he poked enough holes in the other man’s idea he might be able to silence the part of his own brain which longed to agree.

“I can get that sentence reduced with good behavior.”

“Well I won’t get my hopes up then,” Hux said dryly. “And what am I supposed to do? Ask Allegiant General Pryde for shoreleave? I haven’t so much as taken a sick day in the last decade.”

“Wait really?” Dameron snorted. “Is that why you always look … like that?”

Hux felt his ears and cheeks flush hot “Like what exactly?” 

For a moment it almost felt natural - that strange way that talking to the other man had started to feel, as if he were thawing, and there was some part of him that had always been there under the ice, waiting for Poe Dameron’s warmth. It was like that last brutal conversation had never happened, if only for a moment.

Poe’s voice was solemn again when it came out of the comm. “We’ll meet in person, somehow. We’ll work it out.”

“I suppose we’ll have to.” Hux shook his head in silent frustration. Of course working with Dameron would mean working without a clear plan. Typical. But the other man was right, it was the safest way to do this. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when General Hux decided to turn spy,” Dameron mused.

“I’m  _ not  _ turning spy,” Hux spat, feeling heat rising in his throat, staining his cheeks red and choking his words, “this is a one-time exchange of information. I need - the First Order is my life - you understand - it’s all I’ve ever had. It’s my life’s work, and I can’t bear to watch it become poisoned and die because of some sinister conspiracy - I have to stop it. I have to save the First Order, whatever that may take.” 

He spoke the last sentence through his teeth. His jaw was clenched so hard it hurt. Poe could never understand - it didn’t matter. Hux had to say it, if only for himself. This was necessary - like Starkiller had been necessary, like allowing the destruction of that planet had been necessary. He had come too far and done too much to lose the First Order to this conspiracy. So had Sloane. 

“You’re doing the right thing, whatever you want to call it, or whoever you’re doing it for. It’s really … good to see you standing up to what you know is wrong, even if its dangerous.” There was so much warmth in his voice it hurt, and that stubborn, dogged hope - it was heartbreaking. 

He cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. “Shall I begin reading to you from Sloane’s notes? You’ll need to take everything down exactly.”

___

_ The Ravager _ , 30 Years Before

The closest Armitage had ever come to an Imperial star destroyer was the model one he used to play with. As Swift’s little ship dropped out of hyperspace before the  _ Ravager _ , Armitage’s jaw dropped. The dreadnought was more like a city than a ship (not that he’d ever seen a city either), cutting through the blackness of space with its knife-like shape, huge and bright and deadly.

Swift flew his ship low beneath the belly of the  _ Ravager _ , into a landing bay protected by a bright energy shield. Armitage caught glimpses of the other ships docked there - TIE fighters and shuttles - more real-life versions of toys he had had back on Arkanis. There were people too - officers and stormtroopers and black-armored TIE pilots. Even at the parade for Empire Day, or at Arkanis Academy’s graduation ceremony, he had never seen so many different kinds of Imperial personnel all at once. All he could do was gawp, eyes wide and jaw slack as the bounty hunter brought his ship in for a landing. 

The moment Swift’s ship touched the ground of the landing bay, everything went from awe inspiring to overwhelming in a split second. He was herded off the ship by Deedee’s cold hands. Swift was already heading off across the landing bay, muttering something about a debrief and a stiff drink. There was an officer with a datapad there to take his father to someone called Rax. The elder Hux ordered Deedee with him as another officer, a stiff backed woman with a lieutenant’s tiles on her uniform waved them off saying that she would take ‘the boy’ from here. Armitage tried to stand up straight and not shake, though he was very frightened and the landing bay was very cold. A couple of troopers were unloading the ship behind him, carrying off the Huxs’ bags to somewhere deeper in the belly of the behemoth.

“Come with me,” the officer said, “Counselor Rax wants medical to look you over - see that you’re healthy.” 

She started walking even as she spoke, and Armitage had to jog after her, dodging people and crates and droids as he went.

“How old are you?” She asked, black boots clacking sharply on the durasteel floor.

“Five year’s old ma’am.” Double doors slid open upon her approach, revealing a long, brightly lit hallway.

“You talk well for five. That’s good. Counselor Rax wants you smart.”

“Who’s Counselor Rax?” He thought of Swift’s advice and wondered if he would have done better to keep his mouth shut instead of asking questions.

“Counselor Rax is the man who ordered your rescue from Arkanis. You owe him your life.”

If Rax was the one who ordered his rescue then who was the Sloane that Swift had mentioned - the one whose hands he was supposedly safe in? He decided not to ask that question. It felt loaded.

They made a sharp turn down a hallway and through another set of double doors. How anyone could navigate the inside of a dreadnaught was beyond Armitage. Indeed he was sure if he lost sight of the stiff-backed officer, he would be hopelessly lost, wandering the halls of the  _ Ravager  _ until he died of exhaustion or thirst. 

“Excuse me ma’am,” he spoke up again. At least if the woman was speaking to him she was less likely to accidentally leave him behind.

“What is it?”

“What does Counselor Rax want with me and my father?”

She sighed as if she would rather be anywhere in the universe than here, talking to Armitage. “He wants your father as an advisor for the work to come. You’re here because he wants children so the Empire has a future.”

“Oh.” 

The future of the Empire seemed an impossibly large destiny. And what future was there for the Empire? Everyone seemed to think it was dying. Was he supposed to fight for it? He glanced at the blaster rifle of a passing stormtrooper and wondered if he would have to carry one like that. It was almost as long as he was, he wasn't sure he could manage. 

“Right,” the woman said, as they approached a set of transparisteel doors. “Here we are. Medical.” 

The medbay was so bright it hurt his eyes. Everything was pristine white or gleaming metal. There were machines everywhere, whirring and beeping and flashing. There were two human doctors and a droid. The woman led Armitage right up to the droid.

“Here’s the Hux boy for his checkup. I’ll be back to take him to his room when you’re finished with him.” She turned on her heels as she spoke and Armitage once again found himself abandoned in the company of a fresh set of strangers.

Without so much as an introduction the medical droid ordered him onto a scale. His weight was taken then his height, along with a number of other measurements he couldn’t begin to understand the purpose of. Though he tried to ask questions, the droid ignored him, only acknowledging him to usher him from the scale to an uncomfortably hard hover-cot which he was instructed to sit on. Then his sleeve was pushed up and a cold metal hand felt for a vein and promptly stabbed it with a needle. Armitage yelped but tried not to jerk away as he watched a sizable sample of his blood be drawn up through the syringe, along a tube and into a small vile. The vile then disappeared into a slot in the droid’s torso.

“Below average height,” it hummed in a tinny monotone, “underweight. Sprained wrist, bruises on the face and arms. But … bloodwork is good. No other signs of injury or ill-health.”

“Is that good?” Armitage piped up, rubbing the spot where the needle had punctured his arm.

“It is adequate.” The droid replied. “Now, some bacta gel for that sprained wrist.”

It turned to a cupboard built into the gleaming metal wall and began rifling through it.

“Clear out! We have patients in critical condition!” A nurse dressed in green and white sprinted through the transparisteel doors. 

And then all of a sudden everything was happening so quickly and so loudly he could hardly place it all in order in his mind. 

“Get the kid out of here we need this cot!” The nurse insisted, practically shoving Armitage to the floor. “There was an ambush - a squadron of TIE’s hit on their way back from patrol. We’ve got survivors incoming!”

The air of the pristine medbay was suddenly filled with sounds of horrid, rasping moans and the acrid scent of burnt hair and melted plastisteel. There were three hover-stretchers being hastened through the doors by stormtroopers - on them were people - or Armitage thought they were people. At first he thought they were all burnt - blackened and twisted and inhuman. It took a moment for his brain to process that they were still in their black pilot’s uniforms. Their helmets were off though, and their faces were visible - streaked with blood and soot. He thought one of them was missing an eye. Horror kept him from looking away, even as the nurse hurried him out and practically threw him to the floor outside. 

The doors hissed closed behind her, sealing away the sound and the smell, but he could still see through the transparisteel as the three figures were wrestled onto cots, one thrashing out in pain or panic or both. Armitage forced himself to tear his eyes away, to stare at the floor beneath his feet instead as he pressed himself against the wall and clutched his knees to his chest.

The officer who brought him here, who had said she’d be back to collect him was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a flurry of other people - rushing back towards where he guessed the landing bay was, or the other way, deeper into the ship, barking orders into comms or exchanging hasty information as they passed in the hall.

“Eight dead,” he heard someone say.

“That’s what you get, sending out cadets before they finish training.”

“Who else could have gone? It’s only cadets left now.”

It was all too much - the chaos of the hallway, the looks of agony on the wounded TIE pilots faces, the maze of corridors which wound forever and ever as if the dreadnaught was as big as space itself. There were tears pressing against the backs of his eyes, building in his throat. He tried to shove them back inside himself - rubbing his eyes so hard they hurt. He thought of Arkanis - of the waves against the cliff face, the nerfs grazing in the pastures, of his toys. He wished he’d never seen a real star destroyer, wished he could have been left to play innocently with his model forever. Maybe he would have died if they’d left him on Arkanis - maybe the Rebels would have killed him - but this was a bad place. People were dying here too - the whole ship felt like death - like every last crew member was a mortally wounded animal ready to make a last stand. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? A last stand for the Empire. 

He curled into himself against the wall as a sob bubbled forth from his mouth. He wanted desperately to find something he could hold onto - something safe and stable that wouldn’t be yanked away from him - but there was nothing, only his own body. He clung to that and tried to be his own anchor.

“What are you doing out here?” It was the stiff-backed lieutenant from earlier, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “And what are you - are you crying? Stop that. Let’s go. There’s quarters set up for you and your father.”

“I’m sorry,” Armitage insisted, following after her as she once again turned on her heel and strode away. “There were wounded people - the nurse told me to leave.”

“I don’t care.” Said the officer. “All I know is, Counselor Rax will kill me if I lose you. Sitting on the floor on a busy ship is a great way to get lost, or trampled. And don’t cry. There’s enough going wrong in the galaxy right now, and it's only going to get worse. If you cry over every little thing that upsets you you’ll dehydrate yourself.”

There were more twists and turns than Armitage could count on their way to his new quarters. At one point they got in a cramped lift and rode several stories up. His companion said nothing else to him the whole way, and he decided it would be better if he held his tongue as well. Besides, if he tried to speak he might start crying again.

When they finally reached the door of the new quarters, the lieutenant looked down at Armitage with exhaustion in her eyes.

“Here we are. You can stay in here on your own, can’t you? You’re smart.”

“Yes ma’am.” Armitage nodded, relieved beyond measure at the thought of being alone again, where he couldn’t be a burden to anyone at all.

___

The  _ Steadfast,  _ 7 Weeks Before

  
  


It was nearly 03:00 by the time he finished debriefing Dameron on all of Sloane’s notes. At first it felt strange to speak to Dameron like he might speak to one of his fellow officers - as if he were simply giving instructions to Lieutenant Mitaka or presenting to the Supreme Council - clipped and clear and professional. But somewhere in the lists of funds added and deducted from accounts, the coordinates, the sparse records of deleted communications, it all began to feel natural. He would read out the notes, ensuring to enunciate every syllable and explain details which might be unclear to one outside the First Order. Dameron spoke up occasionally, with questions or clarifications. Tedious as this was, dangerous and treasonous as it was, Hux was beginning to think it might actually work. Poe Dameron and the Resistance was going to help him save the First Order.

He reached the end of Sloane’s notes and sighed heavily, finally allowing himself to feel his exhaustion. 

“Do you have it all down?” He asked.

“Yeah. Everything you read. Your Grand Admiral Sloane wasn’t messing around. This is really thorough.”

“Enough to support an investigation?”

“Enough to try.” But there was real determination in his voice. He would try - even if it was impossible, because that was what Poe Dameron did.

Hux’s lips tugged up in a tired half-smile. “I’m glad,” he said. “Thank you, Dameron. I look forward to our exchange of information.”  _ In person _ , he reminded himself, unsure if the thought frightened or excited him. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure you would agree.”

“Me neither,” a soft chuckle. “Guess I’m getting into the habit of making stupid choices on your account.”

“Are you counting when you went rogue to try and murder me on a routine mission? That was especially stupid.”

“That was a big one,” Hux could hear the sleepy smile in his voice - imagined his dark eyes half-lidded under those long lashes. “Still, it worked out didn’t it? If I hadn’t shot you down in the first place you wouldn’t have anyone to turn to with this conspiracy.”

“That’s true.” Hux acquiesced. 

“The Force works in mysterious ways, I guess.”

At that the general scoffed. “That isn’t how the Force works. Not for people like us at any rate. There’s no pre-destiny - only accidents and consequences.” The Force was a terrifying and violent thing. It didn’t belong anywhere near whatever this was he had with Dameron.

“Anyway,” the other man said, with a soft grunt as if he were adjusting his position. “I’m glad you called. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after ...what happened last time.”

Hux frowned. Things had been going well - had started to feel good and natural again - what was the point of dredging up the awful immutable past?

“Let’s put it behind us.” He said simply.

“No, Hux, I don’t think we should.” Dameron was serious now. “That was real - it happened. I think we need to have a conversation about it, if we’re going to work together. What got said last time I -” he faltered.

Hux propped his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands, feeling his hair beginning to fall out of place. It was getting late. He couldn’t miss another whole night of sleep. He told himself it was the sleep deprivation that made his bones ache and not the dreadfully urgent tone of Poe Dameron’s voice. But he recognized a lost cause when he saw one. This conversation was happening whether he liked it or not.

“What you said about me wasn’t entirely wrong,” sighed Hux. “And you know, you’re hardly the first person to call me a coward.”

“I wasn’t upset because I think you’re a coward,” Dameron insisted, emotion flaring up in his voice, “I was upset because I know you’re not one - or you don’t have to be. I’ve seen you be brave, Hux, on that planet standing up to Vanus and those kidnappers, and all of that’s nothing compared to what you’re doing now, so i  _ know  _ it’s a choice. And honestly, I was upset because I’d just heard that millions of lives were just snuffed out, and you were telling me that you were in the room where that choice was made and you didn’t do anything. I thought - kriff, I let my guard down around you, I trusted you, you know, and I was starting to think that we - I thought I’d seen this good man in you, but that made me think I’d been wrong about everything - and I haven’t been that wrong in a long time.”

The crackling of the comm did nothing to dilute the passion that had swelled up in Poe’s voice. The raw emotion took Hux aback, sent him retreating into himself. The strangest thing was it wasn’t anger in Dameron’s voice, or hate, but something else altogether that was harder to name.

Hux scowled down at his desk, pressing the palms of his hands into his forehead before biting out his reply. “I didn’t want that planet destroyed, and if I had thought that I could reason with Pryde and Ren, I would have done it. But there were never going to be any negotiations. They both despise me and if I were to give them the faintest hint of an excuse they would have killed me, and more than likely wiped out the planet anyway. So I made the calculated decision to stand down. You’re right, I didn’t die fighting for that planet - and I’m not sorry. I am not going to throw my life away for a lost cause, or to make you feel less ashamed for thinking I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t-”

But Hux cut him off, all the emotion he had tried to tamp down roiling up in his throat like bile. The other man was full of pretty words and optimism for Hux’s character - always talking about what he  _ could  _ be or  _ could  _ do or what he had buried deep down inside, always some version of him that didn’t exist. “Perhaps you’d be less perpetually disappointed if you stopped trying to invent more palatable versions of me. Despite everything, I’ve never tried to deny what you are Dameron - you’re a dangerous rebel, you’ve killed every First Order pilot you’ve encountered, not to mention the hundreds of thousands killed between Starkiller Base and the  _ Supremacy,  _ you’ve thwarted my plans and earned me a demotion, you shot down my shuttle and tried to take me prisoner - and though it kills me, though I hate myself for it, I still … feel the way that I do about you. I don’t lie to myself to make it easier, and I wish you’d show me the respect of doing the same.” The hot, stinging anger in his voice was precisely why he had wanted to avoid this conversation.

“I know who you are,” Poe exclaimed, “obviously I kriffing know who you are. I know what you’ve done, how many trillions are dead because of you, I’m not denying that - I can’t - how could I? I’m not going to pretend that I’m fine with that. But you know what? I don’t think that what you’ve done is all of who you are. I keep seeing these flashes of you - when you’re not scared or angry or cornered - and you’re a good man, Hux. I don’t need to invent that.” 

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Hux studied the polished surface of his standard issue desk as if its muted highlights and dull reflections were the most fascinating thing in the galaxy. He and Dameron had never openly discussed what exactly it was that existed between them - though it had been there for some time, buried deep, nameless and growing like some great beast of the ocean depths. Someday, Hux suspected, they would have to put names to those feelings - call them what they were and make them solid, but not today. Today acknowledging them was enough. 

“And for what it’s worth,” Dameron added after what felt like an age of silence, “I’m … glad you didn’t die, even if it would have been standing up for something. And I’m … sorry if I made it sound like that’s what I wanted.”

Hux’s voice was caught in his throat. He was still full of some hot, uncomfortable emotion, but it wasn’t anger anymore.

“The other thing I said,” Dameron went on, “about … you know … what happened wasn’t just because you were another warm body on an ice planet. It happened because you were … you know,  _ you _ .”

“I- I may have been too harsh as well.” Hux conceded, trying not to betray how much Dameron’s words had just impacted him. There was more he wanted to say but he’d already let himself be far too vulnerable that night. 

“I’ll take that as an apology.”

Another long pause. 

“It’s getting late,” said Hux. “I should sleep.”

“Yeah,” Poe grunted as if he had just stood up and stretched. “Good talk.”

“It was.”

“And Armitage-”

The sound of his first name caught Hux entirely off guard. “What is it?”

“I’m glad we’re … I don’t know … you know ... back.”

“So am I.” More than he knew how to say.

___

The  _ Ravager,  _ 30 Years Before

The new quarters were sparse, and Armitage’s room was little more than a cot in a closet off the main living quarters. That was fine. He hadn’t much to fill the space, and there was a viewport that looked out at the stars beyond. Over the course of his stay there, he would learn that if he craned his neck just right. He could see the ships entering and leaving the landing bay, but that first night he had little interest in looking out the viewport. All he could do was lie on the bed and sob. 

In the short time since he had left Arkanis he had seen things which dwarfed everything he had ever known - the massive flying labyrinth of the  _ Ravager _ , the infinite emptiness of space - and yet it felt as if the universe had suddenly gotten crushingly small. He felt it pressing in around him, suffocating him. He had been alone often on Arkanis, but it was never like this - on Arkanis there had always been sky above him and ground beneath him - there had been insects that hummed in the night, and birds that cawed and sang and cooed in the day. Wind blew and rain fell and the world felt alive, no matter how alone he was within it. 

The war was always in the background but it was far away. It was not his war. The Empire was just a word that promised security, not this ragged, dying beast, ready to gore whatever it could on its antlers before it finally succumbed to its wounds. This Counselor Rax wanted him to be the future of the Empire - but what future was that? Was it just days and months and years more of being shunted around by people who didn’t want him - ignored and sighed at and talked over until eventually someone sent him off to die in battle?

By the time his father arrived, Armitage had made himself weak from crying, and his throat was almost too dry to draw breath. He listened to the old man’s shuffling footsteps in the living quarters outside. He was walking the way he did when he was at the drink, noted Armitage, unevenly, unpredictably. The boy listened as his father meandered through the living quarters, occasionally mumbling angrily to himself as he went.

“...who’s he to order me - speak to me like that … and that Sloane - couldn’t even be bothered to be here after all the trouble. Highly improper. Never seen the like…”

With a jolt, Armitage realized where his father’s staggering steps were leading him. He didn’t bother to pretend to sleep, and met Brendol’s wild-eyed stare as the door to his room hissed open.

“Still awake are you?” The old man remarked as if it was yet another of his son’s many failings. “And crying. Of course.”

Even as the logical part of his brain screamed at him to stay quiet, he heard his own thin voice say “I want to go home.”

Brendol snorted. “Home? What? To the burnt out wreck of our house on Arkanis? You’d be dead. Idiot boy.”

“I wish I was dead,” Armitage admitted, “I’d rather be dead than be here.”

The elder Hux’s fist collided with the door frame with a bang that shook the whole tiny room.

“Damn it!” He roared, eyes blazing even in the dim light. “You are the most pathetic, selfish, snivelling little creature that ever dared pass itself off as sentient!” 

He advanced a step further into the room. Armitage noticed that his knuckles were split and bleeding from punching the door frame, but the man didn’t seem to register it. The boy wanted to move back, to press himself into the corner where the bed met the wall, but he found his limbs were frozen in place, keeping him exposed in the middle of the bed, heart pounding and eyes wide.

“Do you know how many children like you are dying right now? The Empire is falling, the galaxy is in shambles and yet you - you useless little worm -  _ you _ got to be saved. You got to be rescued from the very brink of destruction and do you know why?”

Armitage shook his head, silently cursing himself for provoking this rage. Whatever punishment came next he would have earned it.

Brendol was standing right over him now, pointing a thick finger in his face like the barrel of a blaster. “You weren’t saved because you were special - void knows you’re nothing special - and it wasn’t because anyone wanted you in particular - it was because you were there. Because they needed me and you were nearby, do you understand? There is nothing that makes you better than all the other children who are suffering and dying - and yet here you are - crying and whining and turning your nose up at all of this. Disgusting! You wish you weren’t here? Wish you weren’t alive? Well you are. Despite the fact that you so clearly don’t deserve it. You’re a waste of resources - a waste of the purified air you’re breathing. But you’re here - and if the rest of us have to make do with you, you’ll damn well make do with this.” His clumsy, quivering finger almost jabbed Armitage in the eye. “And if you were anything other than worthless trash you’d wake up tomorrow morning and every morning afterwards that you’re lucky enough to wake up, and give thanks to the stars that by this accident of fate you were allowed to live despite being so painfully, pathetically unspecial and unworthy. Do you understand?”

“Yes father.” Armitage choked out, his dry throat closing in on itself. 

Brendol’s eyes narrowed and widened again as he seemed to notice for the first time that his hand was bleeding. Without breaking eye contact with his son for a moment, he wiped the blood off on Armitage’s sheet and left the room.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late update I'm afraid. Thank you all for bearing with me for 100k+ words and 20 whole chapters, and for all your support along the way!

The Steadfast, 6 Weeks Before 

“Our fleet is spread thin,” said Admiral Griss, his fingers folded neatly on the table before him. “We cannot spare more than one star destroyer to lead the strike on Hutt Space. The _ Fellfire _ is currently the closest to the region. It could be spared for the campaign.” Allegiant General Pryde was not here today, Hux noted, but the way Griss spoke his piece, it was clear he had been given lines to repeat on the superior officer’s behalf.

“All due respect, Admiral,” General Parnadee said, “our fleet is stretched thin protecting sectors we’ve already won. Surely we could spare more ships. The Hutts are not what they once were but disorder does not give in easily. We will need a sizable force or else this campaign will have failed before it’s even begun.”

“And surely with the duralium General Hux secured for the Order, we can begin construction on new ships to reenforce the fleet and mitigate any losses during the campaign,” Engell spoke up, glancing at Hux as she did. 

She was still trying to ingratiate herself to him, as if that would do any good in restoring the slashed Stormtrooper Program budgets. Even after he had told her about his strange confrontation with Kylo Ren - the Supreme Leader’s insistence that he knew nothing of any budget cuts - she had continued to go out of her way to try and curry favor with Hux. Perhaps she was attempting to build an alliance so she could raise the issue in council - put the budget to a vote and force Ren or Pryde or whoever was behind it to undo the cut. Trusting the council to function democratically (or function at all) was exactly the sort of naive and foolhardy thinking he would expect of her. Still, the last thing he needed now was to make enemies of any more of his colleagues so he met her glance with the ghost of a nod. 

He wondered if she was part of the conspiracy Sloane had uncovered - he didn’t think so - she didn’t seem capable of keeping such a secret. If she wasn’t part of the plot, would she side with Hux when the time came? Would she believe him? Whether he brought the traitors to trial or killed them outright, he would need a majority of his fellow high-ranking officers to believe the evidence he provided, or at least be willing to hear him out. It could not appear as a coup but a product of due process.

“An excellent point, General Engell,” said Parnadee. “Our fleet need not be stretched thin at all.” 

At the far corner of the long table, General Quinn was sour-faced and visibly sulking in his seat. He had given up arguing against the strike, but his opinions were evident in his expression. In a way, Hux was doing Quinn a favor. If the Resistance successfully thwarted the campaign into Hutt Space, the man would be vindicated. He might even get a promotion out of it if Ren decided to punish Parnadee for her failure. 

For his part, Hux had also remained quiet for most of the meeting, though he was careful to keep his expression neutral, and to nod along where appropriate. It was easier to maintain his composure with Pryde absent - even if Griss would almost certainly report everything back to the Allegiant General after the meeting. Still, Hux would have to say something soon - it wasn’t usual for him to remain quiet for a whole meeting, especially not on something so important, and he couldn’t afford to appear unusual.

“There must be a show of force,” he said, “to demonstrate to those scoundrels and crime lords what order looks like. One star destroyer may be sufficient for our first negotiations, but when the time comes for battle, we cannot hold back. The  _ Harbinger  _ is also in the region. She’s nearly ready for retirement, but she has one last campaign in her yet. Besides, we need not send our best ships. The bulk of the fighting will be on the ground, two star destroyers will allow for the transport of more ground assault vehicles.”

“An excellent point, General Hux,” said Parnadee, giving him a cool but approving nod from her seat beside him. 

It  _ was _ an excellent point, Hux congratulated himself. By advocating for a stronger force, he was making himself a far less likely object for suspicion if and when the Supreme Council did search for a spy in their midst. He was also ensuring that if the Resistance used this information effectively and thwarted the campaign, there would be no great losses to the First Order’s fleet. The  _ Fellfire  _ and the  _ Harbinger _ were both older ships, damaged in the destruction of the  _ Supremacy _ and on the brink of retirement. He was minimizing the damage on both ends.

“We shall put it to a vote,” said Griss flatly. “Allegiant General Pryde has instructed me to vote on his behalf in favor of sending only the  _ Fellfire _ . I must agree with his judgement, therefore there are two votes in favor of the  _ Fellfire  _ leading the campaign alone.”

Parnadee and Engell both voted in favor of sending two ships, as did Hux. After a long pause Quinn threw his vote in with them as well. 

“If we must proceed with this,” he said with a scowl, “we ought at least to be prepared. I vote in favor of sending both the  _ Fellfire  _ and the  _ Harbinger. _ ”

“So be it,” Admiral Griss conceded, looking more disinterested than defeated. “Of course the final decision rests in the hands of the Supreme Leader.”

“Of course,” Hux nodded alongside everyone else. 

The Supreme Leader didn’t care. He was too consumed with his dark magic to spare a thought for where his navy was being allocated or what his men were dying for. Pryde couldn’t be especially concerned with the outcome of the decision either, or else he would have turned up. 

WIth that decision made, the meeting progressed on to the matter of allocating troops and ground assault vehicles. New arguments and politics began unfolding, and Hux carefully noted every decision that was made. He would need to pass it all on to Dameron when the time came, and that time was almost sooner than he could believe.

  
  


He and Poe had spoken almost every day since they agreed to the exchange of information. It was a strange thing - to have something to look forward to in the evenings - stranger still that it had begun to feel like a routine. For the most part their conversation steered well clear of the war, of their missions, of the treason Hux was committing and the risk Dameron was taking by helping him. They talked about their days, little frustrations and small victories, Poe asked often if he was eating and sleeping enough. He always promised he was though reality was more complicated than that.

Last night though, when Poe called, Hux could tell at once that something was different. Even his silence hummed with anticipation.

“I have news,” he said, almost as soon as Hux answered. 

“What is it?” Had something gone wrong? Had Poe been caught communicating with Hux and been forced to admit to everything? There was a universe of things which could have gone wrong in their tenuous plan. He perched nervously on the edge of his sofa to await awful news.

“I’m getting un-grounded in a few weeks. It's just a supply run, but General Organa decided it was important enough to let me off early. I guess the good behavior paid off. Anyway, I didn’t want to waste any time - I have an old buddy from the navy, has a safehouse on Barison - I told him I’d need it for two days, two weeks from today. Can you get there?”

“Barison?” Hux repeated, searching his memory for any knowledge of the planet. “It’s in the middle of nowhere - the back end of the Gordian Reach, isn’t it?”

“Yeah the point is that it’s in the middle of nowhere - where neither of us would ever have business being. No one’ll be looking for us there. So can you make it? Two weeks from today?”

“I-” Hux clasped his hands together on his legs and knotted his fingers in anxious tangles. He had yet to figure out how he would get off the  _ Steadfast _ without arousing suspicion. Every which way he thought of it, it ended badly. But there was no way around it. He had to find a way because there was simply no other option. “Yes. I can do it.”

“Great!” A relieved laugh tumbled out on the heels of Dameron’s words. “That’s great! I really think this could work, Armitage, this is all gonna come together.”

Hux felt his own mouth tugging up at the corners. Despite his mounting anxiety and his own massive doubts, Poe’s excitement was contagious, and the thought of seeing the other man in person again was almost enough to eclipse everything else. 

“Two more weeks,” Poe went on, his grin audible in his voice, “two more weeks and I’ll have my ship back. Being grounded - I mean training the new recruits is good. It’s amazing - It gives me so much hope, but I’ve been flying my whole life - I was flying before I could walk. I’ve just been feeling … I don’t know … half-awake without my ship, you know? Like I’m just going through the motions, not quite all the way there.”

Hux thought of his demotion, the loss of his own ship. Once the initial humiliation had faded he had felt an overwhelming, all consuming sense of uselessness. Watching the war go on - knowing what ought to be done - what he could be doing if only he had his full command, his trusted crew - it was agony. To hone oneself into a fine tool - an instrument with a single purpose, only to have that purpose snatched away, was a kind of death. 

“I’m glad you’ve gotten your wings back,” he said with a soft smile before remembering himself and adding, “though the skies just got a great deal more unsafe for First Order pilots.”

A staticky chuckle. “Yeah sorry about that.” After a pause he added: “I missed you Hugs, I’m glad this is coming together, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal.”

Hux felt the blood rising in his cheeks. “Indeed,” he said simply. 

“You sound tired,” said Poe, his tone more serious now. “How are things on your end?”

Hux sighed and sat back against the sofa. There was worry in the other man’s voice, as there often was these days. He hated that. It was bad enough, seeing his own guard slip down bit by bit - allowing casual banter, then flirtation and eventually genuine affection - letting Dameron unravel him with his gentle but stubborn touch until he felt like an open wound unbandaged - but concern - he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let himself get used to that. His fear, his anger, his hurt was his, and he held it closest of all. To share the burden was to let go of some of it - to give up a piece of the one thing he had been able to take with him wherever he went, from Arkanis to Jakku to Starkiller Base, the one thing he had found to cling to when the universe seemed too chaotic to bear - his guilt, his shame, his trauma - the safe, heavy thing at the very heart of him.

“It is what it is.” He said simply in answer to Dameron’s question. “Kylo Ren continues to prove he isn’t fit to lead the Order. The man is a mindless, violent animal. And Allegiant General Pryde continues to go out of his way to antagonize me, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. I can bear it a little longer.”

That morning Kylo Ren snapped a trooper’s neck for interrupting his meditation. He left the man’s body for the droids to take away. The corpse had lain in the hallway for the better part of an hour before the droids arrived, officers and other troopers passing it, too frightened or too numb to acknowledge it right outside the doors to the Supreme Leader’s quarters. Kylo Ren killed so often and so randomly it was beginning to lose its horrific punch. More and more, the casual murder of a crewmate came only as a dull shock, a ripple in the ocean of anxiety they were all treading water in.

“They’re going down, one way or another.” Dameron said in what Hux was sure was meant to be a reassuring tone.

“Yes,” he said, “one way or another they are.” But of course ‘one way or another’ meant with or without Hux going down alongside them or dying in the process. That was simply the way things were. “I should go to bed,” he murmured, heaving himself forward again, to sit on the edge of the sofa. 

Much as his evenings with Poe were the highlight of his day, he couldn’t afford to stay up late. It was taking him even longer to go to sleep lately and staying asleep was even harder - his treason pressed down like a boot on his throat. His ears rang with a deafening clangor of guilt and fear and paranoia. Even with more sleep aids than the medbay advised were safe, and an increase in his drinking, he needed an early start if he wanted to capture even a few fleeting hours of rest.

“I wish I was there with you,” said Dameron, a flirtatious edge to his words. Hux could hear him smirking. 

“You wish you were on the  _ Steadfast _ ?” 

Hux intentionally missed the point. To actually entertain the thought was too tempting and too painful, because no matter what happened, no matter how successful they were in uncovering and defeating this plot, there was no future where the two of them could simply exist casually in the same space.

“Nah,” Poe sighed and Hux imagined the way he probably shrugged as he did so, imagined him shaking his head with a soft half-smirk, “never mind you're right.”

“I appreciate the thought.” 

“See you soon,” said Poe, “on Barison.”

“See you soon.”

That was how they always ended -  _ see you soon _ \- a term he had never in his life expected to hear from Poe Dameron, and certainly never expected to find such comfort in. Though thinking of what exactly would happen when they exchanged their information made him uneasy, the idea of seeing Poe Dameron again - of touching him again - that was a bright shining spark of hope in the uncertain darkness of the future. All he had to do was hold out, keep living for two more weeks, and find a way to get off the  _ Steadfast _ .

Hux left the meeting as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion. He needed time to think, time to work out how he was going to get off this blasted ship with the information he had gathered. He would certainly have to involve others in this part of the scheme, there was no way around it. It would have to be done with a surgeon’s precision - letting on just enough urgency to communicate that he had to get off the  _ Steadfast  _ and do so secretly, but withholding the much more incriminating reason  _ why  _ he had to. Personal secrets and little acts of disobedience were dangerous but acceptable in the First Order if handled correctly, but treason of the kind Hux was committing was a different beast altogether. It was a certain death sentence and anyone he chose to involve in it would either feel obligated to turn him in or die for it alongside him. 

“General Hux,” it was Engell’s voice, stopping him in his tracks just as he approached the turbolift. Parnadee was with her.

“Generals,” Hux acknowledged, pressing the button to call the lift and praying they were headed to a different floor.

“It’s actually quite fortunate we ran into you,” Engell said, lowering her voice as she reached him. “I was just briefing General Parnadee on the situation with the budget cuts to the Stormtrooper Program.”

“Indeed,” Hux gave a reserved nod. It was just as he suspected.

“We were discussing bringing it to a vote,” said Parnadee. “The Stormtrooper Program is vital, as you know. We cannot risk cutting it, especially in light of the campaign into Hutt space.”

The lift arrived and Hux stepped in, hoping that this would end this conversation and free him to get back to the much more pressing matters at hand. No such luck. Both his colleagues joined him, also bound for their quarters in the executive wing in the upper habitation levels. 

“Bringing it to a vote against whom?” Hux asked, resigning himself to the conversation. “Supreme Leader Ren denies having any knowledge of the budget cut - it’s clearly not so straight forward.”

“No,” Engell agreed, “it isn’t straight forward, but it must be addressed, no matter who’s behind it. Supreme Leader Ren might not have cut the budget himself, but he can restore it. He’s the Supreme Leader after all, and he is wise. He has told me himself he appreciates my expansions in the program. He won’t let all this progress go to waste for lack of funding.”

Parnadee nodded her agreement.

His colleagues weren’t stupid - they wouldn’t be where they were if they were stupid. Both women were excellent at their jobs, but they were also promoted by Kylo Ren specifically because it wasn’t in their nature to question the motivations or fairness of authority. They also didn’t share his precarious position. Throwing his vote in with them, in the face of a decision made by some unknown power would certainly subject him to scrutiny, if not outright punishment. That was something he simply could not risk, not now when he was already risking so much for a much larger, more pressing cause. He could allocate all the funding in the galaxy to the Stormtrooper Program once the First Order was safe and in his hands, but until then he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself.

“So can we count on your vote, General Hux? It is your program too, and your father’s legacy.”

Hux chose his next words carefully. “Should it come to it, I would of course vote in the interest of the program. However, I must advise caution.”

“What do you mean, General?” Parnadee cocked her head.

Hux clasped his hands behind his back and studied the lift doors wishing they would hurry up and open. “A wise man once told me that sometimes when you don’t know something, it’s because you’re not supposed to know. This budget cut has been made by an unknown actor who clearly does not want to be known at this time - someone important enough to act on behalf of Supreme Leader Ren. I am sure, when the time is right, the reason will be revealed to us, and we’ll have the opportunity to push back against the decision. Until then, I must urge against any action which might be misconstrued as questioning an authority you do not fully understand the scope of.”

Just then the lift doors slid open on the upper habitation level. Hux resolved to take the long way round to his quarters, just to ensure he was walking the opposite direction as his colleagues.

“An astute point, General Hux,” said Engell as they lingered in the hall outside the lift.

“Perhaps we should postpone the vote until after the campaign into Hutt space,” Parnadee suggested, “let our troops’ victory there be the evidence we need to support funding the program.” 

Engell’s brows knitted and her frown deepened. She clearly didn’t like the idea, but she knew he was right, and that Parnadee’s suggestion was wise. She acquiesced with a sigh and a nod.

The three generals parted ways with a few mumbled pleasantries - Parnadee and Engell towards the executive wing and Hux in the opposite direction. He would wind his way back towards his quarters eventually. He had always felt as if there were a sheet of transparisteel between himself and his colleagues, even back on the  _ Finalizer _ . Those who were his age and older knew his shame better than they knew him - no matter how far he rose in the ranks, no matter how skilled a general he proved himself to be, they looked at him and saw only Brendol Hux’s useless bastard son, some Arkanis Academy kitchen woman’s unwanted child. His younger colleagues knew nothing of that. They grew up on propaganda, grew up viewing him as a prodigy, a rising star and a role model. He had to keep them at arm's length too - lest they find out the horrible truth of what he was. Every interaction was a performance, carefully calculated to prove himself or conceal himself. 

That barrier between him and his supposed comrades had only grown thicker as time went on - first with his transfer to the  _ Steadfast _ , then his affair with Poe Dameron, and now his treason - because it was still treason no matter how noble the cause. Feeding the Resistance information on the attack on Hutt Space meant compromising the goals of Parnadee and Engell, whom he respected and wanted to see succeed. It meant sacrificing the lives of the troopers who were products of his own program. The thought made him sick with himself. But why? He had carefully cultivated his callousness over decades, long ago accepted that the ends justified the means no matter how horrific. Why was he just now developing a conscience? Just when it was most crucial that he stick to his resolve? 

And now his thoughts turned back to the task at hand, the task Parnadee and Engell had interrupted - choosing which one of his colleagues he would let down the barrier for - if only a little, to make them complicit in his treason. That too felt cruel and regrettable, but it had to be done.

He took stock of the officers he could trust for such a task. Opan, of course. He had been allowed to keep his assassin with him on the  _ Steadfast _ , but only because Ren and Pryde knew he couldn’t use the man. It was another way of subtly taunting him, keeping power just out of his reach, daring him to make a mistake and give them an excuse to eliminate him. If he was spotted meeting with Opan, it could be disastrous. Still, the man kept secrets better than anyone else, and he wouldn’t break under interrogation. Perhaps, if he was careful, if he avoided being spotted ...

There were other, less conspicuous officers from his crew on the  _ Finalizer  _ whose loyalty he might still be able to depend on. Lieutenant Mitaka and Commander Trach were both aboard the  _ Steadfast _ . Trach was good, but he was playing his own cards carefully, navigating the tension between Hux and Pryde by following both their orders to the letter. He might follow Hux’s orders, but there was no guarantee he’d keep quiet about it. Hux didn’t hold it against him, the younger officer was doing exactly what he himself would have done in such a situation, but it made him far too risky to trust with something so dangerous and so important. 

By all accounts Mitaka was the best option. Time and time again he had proven himself clever, careful, and most importantly loyal. But it was exactly that loyalty that made him hesitate to ask the lieutenant, who had served him so well, who was just beginning his career, to risk everything for what could be a colossal and deadly failure. Then again he had been just fifteen when Sloane entrusted this task to him, whether he’d known it or not, and Mitaka had no future at all if Ren and Pryde and whatever was out there in the Unknown Regions ran the First Order into the ground. And Mitaka’s unassuming presence and low rank could serve as an advantage. He could meet with Hux or arrange a shuttle for him, and no one would notice. Though the Allegiant General and Supreme Leader must know Mitaka was loyal to Hux, they also paid him very little mind. 

As he turned a corner to begin the long loop through the upper habitation level, back to his own quarters, he debated setting a meeting with the lieutenant for that evening but he stopped himself. Better not to put treason on the books if he could help it. It was far safer to find Mitaka in person to broach the subject, and he suspected he knew precisely where the younger man would be.

The officer’s bar was on the upper habitation level - only a few corridors removed from the executive wing and his own quarters, and yet he had almost never visited. He got quite enough exposure to his fellow officers in the course of his daily routine, and he preferred to do his drinking in private. It was most popular among the younger officers - those who were still naive or unimportant enough to view their peers as friends, rather than rivals and enemies. 

It looked almost identical to the officer’s bar on the  _ Finalizer _ , which Hux had at least periodically visited. Its viewports looked out over the jagged landscape of the outside of the ship, their view obscured by a series of high metal tables at which a few officers stood drinking and chatting. Mitaka was seated at the bar, chatting to a woman around his own age. 

Hux made his way to the bar, catching Mitaka’s eye and holding it just long enough to convey urgency before ordering a drink for himself. The lieutenant extricated himself from his conversation with the woman and hastened to join him.

“General Hux,” he said, wavering on the edge of saluting and settling on an awkward half-wave, “can I help you, sir?”

“Lieutenant,” Hux nodded and gestured to an empty table towards the back of the room, “if you wouldn’t mind joining me for a moment, there is an urgent matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Of course general,” the younger man followed him to the table without question.

Hux gave the room an anxious glance. He had chosen this table precisely because it was not the most private spot in the room. The best way to hide in plain sight was to act as if one had nothing to hide. Taking some shadowy table in the far back of the bar would only invite suspicion. Once he was sure no one was watching, he took a sip of his drink, and cleared his throat.

“We’ve served together a long time now, haven’t we lieutenant?” Hux began carefully. “Both of us swore to serve the First Order with our whole lives - at the cost of our lives if need be.”

“Yes sir,” Mitaka nodded solemnly, his mouth a short, straight line. 

There was confusion in his eyes, but curiosity too. Hux was sure now he had not miscalculated. Still, he wanted to give Mitaka an out - offer him the choice Grand Admiral Sloane had not offered him.

“You’ve served the Order well, these last few years, despite difficult circumstances, but what I am about to ask of you is far beyond the scope of your duties. The First Order is in grave danger, and I believe you can help me save it, but it is dangerous work, and highly confidential. Once I tell you anything at all about it, you will be in it, there will be no backing out, so I’ll give you the choice now if you want me to go on - I won’t fault you if you choose to walk away.”

Without missing a beat, Mitaka straightened and leaned forward, his heavy brows settling low and determined above his eyes. “I would do anything for the First Order, General.”

“And for me,” Hux pushed, “would you do it for me - would you trust me, even if what I said sounded mad? If it sounded like treason?”

The younger officer’s mouth tightened and twisted but at last he spoke, sounding sure and steady. “I would follow you no matter what, General Hux.”

The sincere and solemn loyalty in his tone made Hux’s heart skip a beat, he had been right to choose Mitaka for this, more than he had dared to hope. 

“Thank you lieutenant. Your loyalty will be rewarded, I promise you that.” He took another sip of his drink, fortifying himself for the delicate work to come. “I will spare you most of the details. The less you know, the safer it will be for you. I have become aware of a serious and credible threat to the First Order - a threat from within, which must be investigated carefully and secretly. I have been working with an external agent to uncover the scope of the threat and identify those involved. Due to the sensitive nature of the investigation, comms are of limited use. Therefore I must meet with the contact in person. I need a transport - enough fuel to get too and from the Gordian Reach - minimal staffing - droids or stormtroopers - ready to go in just under two weeks. I’ll need an excuse to get off this ship too but I’m afraid I’ll have to work that one out on my own.”

Mitaka had nodded along through everything Hux said, his eyes growing wider and wider beneath his furrowed brows. “Right,” he said when the general paused, “very good, I’ll arrange a transport, ensure it isn’t reserved under your name. Minimal crew, plenty of fuel, no questions asked.”

“Excellent,” Hux gave a tight, professional smile, but hoped it conveyed the gratitude he felt. “Thank you. And this must stay absolutely secret you understand. If word of this gets out, it won’t just be my head.”

The lieutenant swallowed hard. “Yes sir, I understand. Once I have arranged the transport I will let you know in person so as to avoid leaving a data trail.”

“Wonderful, thank you lieutenant. Your discretion will save the First Order.” 

Espionage suited Mitaka, Hux thought. His anxious nature made him careful, and his loyalty to Hux, his obvious desire to be useful, to be praised, made him an ideal accomplice. If he managed this, then when Hux returned from Barison he might consider bringing the younger officer further in - not telling him about Dameron of course, but perhaps letting him know about Pryde’s involvement - about Sloane. He could be useful. 

He sipped his drink again, allowing his gaze to wander from Mitaka to the viewports. “Now all that remains is to find a way off this blasted ship,” he mused, mostly for his own benefit.

The lieutenant pursed his lips again, mouth working and eyes burning as if he were considering something.

“I was speaking to Thanisson the other day - you remember him don’t you, General?”

“I do.” Hux remembered all his officers from the  _ Finalizer _ . Petty Officer Thanisson had been transferred to the  _ Subjugator _ last he had heard. It brought a little warmth to his thoughts to know that his old officers still stayed in contact with one another - that camaraderie still existed in the ranks of the First Order.

“Well Thanisson was telling me - and forgive me if this sounds like gossip, but it does have a point - Thanisson was telling me that an officer on his new ship was absolutely desperate for leave, but couldn’t get it - he needed a good reason to leave the ship, since he would never be approved for shoreleave, so he exposed himself to a neurotoxin that was being kept in one of the laboratories. He had to be rushed off the ship to get treatment at a research facility. Of course he had lasting damage from the neurotoxin … and when they found out what he had done he was court marshaled…” the lieutenant’s voice trailed off as he seemed to lose confidence in his idea. “It’s just talk of course,” he added apologetically.

It did sound like idle gossip - like one of those stories which might once have been true but had been repeated by so many bored soldiers, each embellishing it a little more, until it was all but unrecognizable. Still, there was an idea buried in there that was worth considering.

“Suppose,” Hux said, turning his glass absentmindedly between black-gloved fingers, “that one did that in a way that was actually intelligent. Suppose instead of a neurotoxin, one used poison with an available antidote - a poison that was difficult to identify - with symptoms extreme enough to warrant being rushed off to a research facility. One could then take the antidote as soon as they were on board the transport and get away clean, especially if the transport waiting for them had been arranged quietly in advance.” As he spoke the plan aloud, convoluted as it was, he began to gain confidence in it, began to feel almost excited for it all to come together.

Mitaka’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “It could work, sir. Though you would need someone with you to give you the antidote once you were on board the shuttle. Any poison convincing enough to get you rushed off the  _ Steadfast  _ would leave you in no state to apply an antidote yourself.”

_ Overeager _ , Hux thought. Mitaka was desperately trying to demonstrate his usefulness above and beyond what Hux had already asked. He had seen his chance to make Hux an ally, to put the general in his debt, and he was seizing on it, as any ambitious young officer would do - as Hux would do if he were in the other man’s place. But in this case he could not allow it. No one, not even enthusiastically loyal Mitaka, could be allowed to know about Dameron - the treason beyond the treason. Someday he might be able to announce to the galaxy what he had uncovered about Sloane’s fate and whatever conspiracy was operating out of the depths of the unknown regions, but this thing he had with Poe Dameron he would take to his grave. 

“A droid will suffice for that,” he dismissed Mitaka’s suggestion with a wave of his hand. “You will need to stay on board the  _ Steadfast _ , comm me should anything go wrong in my absence. And in the meantime,” he punctuated his sentence with another sip of his drink, “I need you to find Captain Opan, let him know that in two days time the three of us will meet here - publicly, casually, inconspicuously - at nineteen-hundred hours. If someone is going to poison me I would rather it be a professional, and I would rather have the details worked out well in advance.”

“Yes sir.” Mitaka looked only a little disappointed at being brushed off.

“Your help in this matter is more valuable than you can possibly understand,” said Hux, finishing his drink and standing up from the table. “When the time is right you will understand all of this and be rewarded for your service.”

He parted ways with Mitaka feeling more secure than he had in days. His treason still weighed heavy on him, as did his guilt for involving the lieutenant at all, but for the first time since seeing Sloane’s recording, he truly had hope that he could solve this mystery, bring these sinister conspirators to light and save the First Order from corruption and ruin. He allowed himself a sliver of hope, the faintest fantasy of a future where it all worked - where he lived - where his enemies were punished - where the galaxy could finally be at peace under his rule. 

But of course even the most optimistic version of events was an imperfect victory. Once he was Supreme Leader, there was no way he could continue seeing Poe Dameron. He would have no more excuses to keep talking to the man, keep entertaining feelings for him. He could save the galaxy, realize his wildest dreams, but he would have to do it alone. But before any of that he was meeting Poe on Barison. The future could resume its grim and lonely march after that.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you all so much for bearing with me this far, despite my irregular update schedule! I'm sorry in advance for the long, bleak chapter ahead, but at this point I assume you all know what to expect from me : )

The Unknown Region, 21 Years Before 

Empire Day had gone more or less the same way every year since they first fled into the Unknown Regions. It would begin solemnly. Grand Admiral Sloane would give a speech that would be broadcast across the fleet - mourning the loss of the Empire and all those who gave their lives to protect it, then urging everyone listening not to despair, or to get lost in idealizing the past, but to use their memories as ammunition and inspiration for the fight to come. Brendol would attend the speech dutifully, along with the rest of Command. Then, every year he and his cronies would ‘get together for a drink’ in his quarters and reminisce. One drink would turn into many and reminiscing would turn into raucous laughter and laughter into grim silence, and when his friends left, grimness turned into rage which was turned onto Armitage. Some years were better than others, but they were always bad.

This year, as every other year, Armitage found himself conscripted into serving his father and his friends drinks, hovering awkwardly in the corner of his father’s lavishly decorated living quarters, struggling with the weight of a large tray laden with glasses and decanters of expensive liquors.  _ Some things never change _ , he thought bitterly,  _ Empire or First Order they’ve got you serving drinks. _

“You know what I miss most about the good old days?” Admiral Brooks was saying. It was late in the evening and they were all well and truly drunk. “The events. At the time it all seemed so bloody stuffy - all the pomp and circumstance, and the politicking - but now ...When’s the last time any of us went to a gala, eh? When’s the last time any of us saw a woman in a dress?” 

A chorus of murmured agreement from the room.

“Never mind a gala,” Brendol Hux said, holding out his glass expectantly for Armitage to refill, “I’d give anything for a proper meal! Ration bars and protein cubes - it’s no way to live.”

“Oh yes,” one of the other officers, a commander, drawled from his seat on the couch, “we all know how much General Hux loves a fully staffed kitchen.”

Raucous laughter from everybody in the room except, Armitage noted, General Pryde, who was also the only adult in the room who seemed almost entirely sober. He didn’t focus too long on Pryde, however. He needed to keep an eye on his father - to gauge his reaction. Any humiliation he experienced this evening would be taken out on Armitage later tonight, but the older man seemed amused by the comment.

“Speaking of your exploits in the kitchen,” Brooks said, looking over at Armitage with a sneer, “my glass is empty, boy, get over here.”

Armitage didn’t need to be asked twice. He hastened to the admiral’s side and refilled his glass for what must have been the fourth time that night. Brooks watched him the whole time, as if hoping he would make a mistake, give him an excuse to scold the boy in front of everyone. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Armitage didn’t give him the satisfaction. He topped off the glass without spilling a drop and made to return to the relative safety of the corner of the room.

Just then he felt a sharp pinch on his arm.

“There’s really nothing of him is there?” Brooks sneered. “All skin and bone, this one.”

Armitage felt the blood rising high in his cheeks - burning with shame, and just beneath that, with rage.

“He certainly doesn’t get that from me,” Brendol laughed jovially, gesturing at his own protruding stomach. “That’s his mother’s poor genetics I’m afraid. He got her spine too - or lack thereof.” 

The flush in Armitage’s cheeks had spread to his ears, and his stomach was near boiling over with hatred. He had only ever heard his mother brought up in disparaging ways, usually as a means to disparage him. He didn’t have a single memory of the woman, and yet no one would let him forget  _ what  _ she was. 

“So she was a skinny little thing then was she?” The officer on the sofa asked. “The kitchen girl? Didn’t think that was your type.”

“It was Arkanis,” Brendol shrugged, “the Outer Rim, everything there was sub par. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Lowering oneself to sample the common goods.”

“Oh yes,” Brooks agreed, “and there are some things respectable Imperial women simply won’t  _ do _ .”

Laughs again - with the exception of General Pryde who sat silently, his tight mouth betraying disgust. Armitage knew better than to think Pryde cared what they said about his mother or about him. Pryde was friends with Maratelle first and foremost, and he was no doubt appalled by the casual way Brendol discussed his infidelity.

Armitage’s knuckles were white where they gripped the drink tray. His vision was swimming as anger rushed to his head along with more blood. He must be red as Crait salt by now.

“Still if I’d known all the trouble that would come from it,” Brendol went on, ”I wouldn’t have bothered. You know, I staked my career on the idea that the right training could make a good soldier out of anybody, no matter how low their birth - I never thought my own son would be the case to make me question it.”

At that he shot a look of pure loathing at Armitage - a look which the boy returned with equally blistering hatred.

“So much disappointment,” the old man mused, “all for the sake of some quick fun with some mousy little -”

The living quarters were suddenly filled with the clangor of smashing glass and metal ringing on metal as Armitage dropped the drink tray, and all his father’s expensive liquors in their crystal decanters to the floor. He stood above the mess, staring defiantly at the elder Hux, all sense of self preservation gone as he balled his fists up at his sides and snarled -

“Shut up! Shut up about my mother!”

Brooks snorted derisively at the display of rage and disobedience, and the officer on the sofa stared at Armitage as if he’d just sprouted tentacles. Pryde’s face was composed as ever, but there was a gleam in his eye - a cruel interest in what would happen next.

What happened next happened very quickly indeed. Brendol Hux sprung into action with a surprising speed and agility for a man of his age and physical shape, not to mention the four drinks in him. In the blink of an eye he had leapt from his chair and crossed over to where Armitage stood. He grabbed his son by the collar with one hand, and struck him across the face with the back of the other, hard enough to send stars exploding across the boy’s vision.

“How dare you!” He roared. “How dare you speak that way to your betters! This is a day of celebration and remembrance, and you dare defile it with your insubordination? You snivelling, spineless little idiot!”

Armitage’s eyes finally refocused themselves and he met his father’s glare defiantly. At this point he was going to be beaten no matter what he did so he might as well say his piece.

“I’m sick and tired of listening to you say such horrible things about my mother,” he shouted back at his father - at all of them - that whole room of disgusting men. “It’s vile! You’re all vile! What did she ever do to deserve this, besides work a job that you don’t respect? What gives you the right to say those things about her? About me?”

Another slap, even harder than the last, and this time his father forcefully let go of his collar, sending him reeling and crashing to the ground, straight into the mess of broken glass on the floor. He gasped as he felt the palm of his hand slice open on the shattered remains of a crystal tumbler. But Armitage barely had time to process that agony before another eclipsed it. Brendol’s boot collided hard with his ribs, knocking whatever breath he had left from his lungs. 

“If it takes me all night to teach you, and breaks every bone in your wretched body, you will learn your place!” The elder Hux shouted down at the boy, now curled at his feet.

“Look at the time,” the officer on the couch said, glancing at the chrono on the wall above Brendol’s desk and rising to his feet. “I have a meeting tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred hours. Better get started sleeping this off.”

“Yes, I suppose I’d better be going too,” said Brooks, the hint of a bemused smirk still playing on his lips as he hefted himself from the plush chair he had been resting on.

Armitage lifted his head just a fraction of an inch, and squinted through his pain-blurred vision to watch the men go. General Pryde was the last to rise from his seat, and as he reached the door he cast a look back at the bleak scene. Armitage met his eye for just a moment, and there was no emotion there - only the sort of dull, disgusted pity without sympathy that one might have for a beached fish.

Then the door slid shut behind him and father and son were alone. That was when the real punishment began.

___

The  _ Steadfast _ , One Month Before

General Hux took his poison with his morning caf and set off for the bridge. 

“Quongoosh essence,” Opan had explained at the officer’s bar, passing him the small bottle under the guise of clinking their glasses together. “Causes blindness and paralysis in the victim.”

“But not death?” Hux had questioned, keeping his voice low and casting a careful look around the bar.

“Oh no, it’ll kill you too, if you don’t get the antidote in time - I assumed we were taking that part for granted.” 

The antidote would be waiting for him aboard the transport Lieutenant Mitaka had arranged, inside a droid who would administer it the moment they were clear of the  _ Steadfast _ . There might be some temporary nerve damage, Opan had warned, but nothing permanent.

“At this dosage it’ll take about half an hour to begin taking effect,” Opan had said, “after that you’ve got another hour - maybe an hour and a half to take the antidote and live.”

“Are you  _ sure _ this is the only way?” Mitaka had pushed back. “Surely we could get you off the ship without … all of this.” 

The lieutenant was sitting as far away as he could from Opan without actually being at a different table. His eyes were wide beneath his dark brows, and his mouth was tight with obvious terror. Tritt Opan had always had that effect on people - he had had it on Hux himself back when he was his father’s aide. Even when he wasn’t dealing death, or talking about it in an uncannily calm manner, he exuded danger. 

Opan shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “No, General Hux is right. This is the best way - no one stops to ask questions when a man’s dying in agony right in front of them. You’ll be on your transport, taking the antidote before anyone can think to question it.”

“I beg your pardon, did you say  _ agony _ ?” Hux demanded. Every detail Opan added made the idea less appealing, but there really was no other way.

“Poison tends to be agonizing,” Opan said matter-of-factly, “the body fights death. Pain, hallucinations, it’s all a natural part of the process, but I wouldn’t worry about it, you’ll be unconscious within minutes.”

“Won’t the medbay test for poison before agreeing to send him off to a hospital planetside?” Mitaka was even more skeptical than Hux, seeming to overcome his fear of Opan enough to shoot him a tight lipped glare.

“Don’t worry about that,” the assassin said with a shrug, “this isn’t my first time making sure the medbay doesn’t detect poison.”

“Oh good…” Mitaka had mumbled under his breath, casting the general one last concerned look as if to ask if he  _ really _ must go through with this.

But Hux had gone through with it. He had no other choice if he wanted to get to Barison and exchange that all important information with Poe Dameron. There was nothing left to do but to do it. 

That morning he had slipped both his personal comm and the one Poe Dameron had given him into a secret inner pocket of his tunic along with a drive containing all the information he had gathered on the campaign into Hutt Space. Mitaka had been instructed to call him on the private comm should anything go awry while he was away, and he was expecting a call from Poe with the precise coordinates of the safe house once he was en route. The lieutenant had gone ahead and ensured his transport was ready with a discrete change of clothes for when he arrived, as well as a blaster pistol. However he might feel about Dameron, he could not rule out the possibility that the man was planning to ambush him - show up with a whole squadron of rebels and drag him back to their base as a prisoner. He could fight, if he had to. He would be ready.

As he approached the bridge, Hux saw Allegiant General Pryde leaving it, engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation with Admiral Griss. Right on schedule. Pryde’s agenda was blocked off all day with private meetings - he would be out of the way when the poison took effect, and wouldn’t be reachable until long after Hux was rushed off the ship. Pryde met his eye with a cool glare and lowered his voice as they passed one another in the hall, but Hux still caught a snippet of his conversation.

“...nearly time. Ready yourself for change, Admiral. Even the Supreme Leader himself has no idea the scope of ...”

Hux was so caught up in trying to listen in on the two men that he stumbled and nearly fell over the threshold of the bridge. He compensated for the embarrassment by holding his back even straighter as he marched among the consoles and began giving orders and instructions to the crew. 

“Have a maintenance team sent to inspect the multi-spectrum sensor towers,” Hux instructed, studying a holo display over the shoulder of a junior officer. “Those readings look unusually low.”

“Yes sir,” the officer replied, nodding stiffly.

He stood back, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The usually cool command bridge suddenly felt sweltering and humid, as if someone were pressing a hot, wet cloth over his mouth and nose. The sweat on his brow was dissolving his carefully applied hair gel, and an unruly lock came free to flop infuriatingly into his eyes. This must be the poison at work- was it already time?

“Somebody check the environmental controls,” he barked at nobody in particular, pushing his hair back into place, “it’s hot as a supernova in here. Allegiant General Pryde may be away but that is no excuse to be any less diligen-” 

_ Armitage! _

His father’s voice sounded far off, but it was unmistakable, Hux whipped round half expecting to see the man standing across the bridge. But there was no one, only a few concerned stares from the bridge staff.

_ Snivelling, spineless - _

Brendol’s voice came from his right side this time, now so close and clear he could have sworn he felt flecks of spit hit him from his father’s mouth, but again there was nothing.

“General Hux, are you alright?” A concerned junior officer piped up from behind a monitor.

“Yes. Yes I -”

Hux stumbled forward, catching himself on a console. The floor of the command bridge tossed and roiled beneath his feet like ocean waves as he tried to steady himself. His limbs had grown unbearably heavy - unwilling to respond to his attempts to move them. Someone was calling his name, he thought, but it was hard to tell if it was real or not. His ears were filled with a high-pitched ringing and his brain felt as if it were melting in his skull.

_ You will learn your place! _

Suddenly a searing pain exploded through his guts, as if he had just been shot point blank by a blaster. He felt his legs give out and buckle under him, sending him crumpling to the floor. He thought he might be screaming - or maybe someone else was screaming - maybe it was both. His vision was failing him - swallowed by a bright whiteness, sharp and clear as the pain which had now spread from his gut to every nerve in his body. There were people standing over him, he thought, officers and stormtroopers, he couldn’t see them, but he could almost hear them. As the pain overwhelmed his consciousness, his mind held on to a single clear, triumphant thought -  _ everything is going exactly as planned _ .

___

The Unknown Regions, 21 Years Before 

Armitage wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time his father had finished ‘teaching him respect’ but he was tired and sore to the bone by the end of it. Breathing had become a monumental task as his bruised ribs protested every rise and fall of his chest. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut. The hand he had cut open on the broken glass was still bleeding freely, cradled against his stomach. He had long ago given up trying to get up, to move. He simply laid on the floor, the spilled liquor soaking into his clothes and hair, as his father stalked across the room, wiping his hands on his uniform tunic.

“You think I enjoy this, Armitage?” Brendol’s voice sounded nearly as exhausted as he felt, as if giving the beating had been as taxing as taking it. “You think I  _ want _ to have to punish my son in front of my colleagues? It’s humiliating. You made me look like a buffoon this evening - a weak man who can’t even control his own son. And on Empire Day, of all days. You humiliated me - disrespected me and my colleagues - your betters - on what is supposed to be a day of remembrance and honor. I can’t have that -  _ we  _ can’t have that, Armitage, do you understand? If my reputation suffers so does yours. You could achieve great things - have an incredible destiny if only you could behave yourself in a manner fitting for a future officer of the First Order. It pains me to watch you squander your potential - remaining weak and insolent. I’m beginning to worry there’s no fixing you - that all you are, all you will ever be, is a weak, shameful little thing.”

Brendol looked back at him as if he expected his son to say something - to apologize or fight back. Armitage said nothing - could say nothing, winded as he was.

“She isn’t worth it,” Brendol said, taking a seat at his desk and observing his son with a cool expression of disgust, “your mother.”

“How … could I know,” Armitage managed, “when you never even let me know her?” The effort of speaking broke his voice and betrayed his emotions, coming out nearly as a sob.

Brendol’s expression changed and Armitage instinctively tensed, waiting for another round of blows, but none came. Instead, he heard the sound of his father rifling through desk drawers.

“You think I took you away from your mother?” The elder Hux scoffed. “What is it you imagine I deprived you of? A life of drudgery on some backwater Outer Rim world? A loving, doting parent? She didn’t want you, Armitage. She gave you up willingly.”

_ He’s lying _ , Armitage told himself,  _ of course he’s lying _ .

“But if you refuse to take my word for it, I can show you the evidence.” 

Armitage watched his father’s polished black boots emerge from behind his desk and approach. He was still tensed, waiting for another kick. Instead Brendol thrust an old datapad in his face - the screen lit up with some sort of official-looking document. He reached up with his bloodied hand and took it. What he saw broke him in a way he did not know he could be broken.

“She never wanted you, you stupid boy,” Brendol went on, pacing in front of the crumpled form of his son as the boy stared in horror at the contract on the datapad. “She was more than happy to sign you away - to renounce her relationship to you entirely. Perhaps you should consider that the next time you want to make a fool of yourself and disrespect me on her behalf.  _ I  _ was the one who wanted you, who gave you my name, who saved you from the wreckage of the Empire. You would have nothing and no one if it weren’t for me. This isn’t an easy life - you may not like it, but it is the best life the likes of you was ever going to have. Do you understand, Armitage?”

But his voice had gotten lost somewhere around where his lungs had been before this revelation had hollowed him out, left him deflated and empty on the floor. 

“Armitage? I asked you a question.” Brendol’s boots came back into view, coming to stand directly in front of him.

“Yes, father.” He whispered, the end of the sentence caught up in a gasp of pain at the agonizing effort of speaking..

“Look at me when you answer me!” His father barked.

Armitage turned his head to stare up at his father - too tired and too devastated to muster a glare.

“Yes, father,” he repeated, clearer this time, “I understand.”

“You’re lucky to have a place in the First Order, lucky I’ve been so patient with you despite your obvious ineptitude for everything that makes a good soldier. And what thanks do I get for saving your life? For tolerating all of your failures? Only constant sullenness and disrespect.”

“I’m sorry,” Armitage managed, “thank you, father.”

“Thank you for  _ what _ ?” The toe of the old man’s boot found his chin and forced his head up further.

He took a ragged, painful breath and tried to find his voice despite the agonizing position his father was keeping him in. “For taking me in, for saving my life, for ...for putting up with my failures.”

He wanted to hate his father - wanted to want to kill him then and there - he could do it - take a piece of broken glass from the floor and cut his throat - but even hatred seemed out of his grasp. The horrible thought sat in his mind, impossible to ignore - that if his own mother hadn’t wanted him - had signed him away the moment he was born, there really must be something fundamentally wrong with him. Maybe it was bad breeding, as General Pryde had once called it, maybe he was just missing a piece - something that everyone but him could see wasn’t there. 

“Very good,” a sneer twisted the elder Hux’s thin lips. “Now go on, get yourself to the medbay. You’re bleeding all over the carpet.”

Armitage set down the old datapad and tried to get to his feet. The moment he attempted to lift his torso from the ground a stabbing pain shot through him, whiting out his vision and -

___

The  _ Steadfast _ , One Month Before

He couldn’t see but he thought he was moving - the quick, smooth motion of a hovergurney, he suspected. He still felt the pain but it was duller now - removed - as if he had been given a heavy dose of some painkiller. How long had he been out? Opan had said once he took the poison he only had an hour and a half at most to get the antidote and survive. People were speaking above him - the flat, vocoded tones of stormtroopers, and the familiar voice of Lieutenant Mitaka.

“You heard the doctor,” Mitaka was saying, “we have to hurry or he’s done for - get him to the main hangar, I commed ahead, there should be a free transport.”

“What do you think’s wrong with him?” A trooper asked quietly. “The doctor looked worried - you think it’s contagious?”

“Didn’t he get stranded on some ice planet a few weeks back? Maybe he picked something up there - a parasite or -”

“Wasn’t Poe Dameron there? Maybe he poisoned him. Something slow acting and undetectable.”

“Sounds like something the Resistance would do…”

“Would you two stop that!” Mitaka snapped, his usually soft voice shockingly authoritative. “Speculating isn’t helping anything!”  
Actually speculation was incredibly helpful. The more rumors circulated, the more ridiculous explanations were floated, the harder it would be to look closely at the reality of the situation. A convoluted plot, buried beneath a thousand equally convoluted stories was almost impossible to uncover. Of course he would have to return from Barison with a convincing diagnosis. Perhaps he should say it was some unknown disease he picked up on the ice planet - he could forge a medical report fairly easily - or better yet get Opan to do it for him. This was going to work, it was all coming together.

“She never wanted you, you stupid boy.”

That was his father’s voice, cool and matter-of-fact and clear as if he were walking alongside the hovergurney. He must be hallucinating. He knew where he was - who he was - that his father was dead - that this was a snippet of a conversation decades past.

“And who could blame her?” Brendol went on, suddenly and confusingly deviating from the script of that old conversation. “Look at you now, all grown up and still pathetic. What - do you think just because you’ve managed to scheme and hide while your betters died, you’ve earned your place? Anyone with eyes can see through you Armitage - you might have the title of general, but you are still the same spineless little bastard you’ve always been. And now, poisoning yourself to abandon your post, trading First Order secrets to the enemy, scheming to bring down your Supreme Leader, all to say nothing of your sordid little affair with that rebel scum. You’re a traitor, and a coward, and soon that will all catch up to you. You’ll be put down like the vermin you are and all that will remain is the stain you left on history.”

_ Shut up! _ He wanted to shout.  _ Shut up, you aren’t real! You’re the one who was put down, and I did it. You’re a ghost - less than a ghost - nothing but a product of my poison-addled synapses misfiring.  _

He must have made some sort of sound because he heard Mitaka gasp - felt a hand squeeze his shoulder in a quick, professional manner. Whatever was numbing the pain of the poison made the pressure on his shoulder feel like a far away memory of touch.

“It’s going to be alright, general,” the Lieutenant assured him, “we’re nearly to the transport. You’ll be on your way to Axxila in no time.”

“A shame you had to drag such a promising young man into your foolish schemes.” Brendol remarked casually. “Young Mitaka had real potential. Opan doesn’t surprise me, nor did Phasma. They were always rather … unpredictable characters. But Mitaka, he could have gone far. But of course you aren’t content with just ruining your own pathetic career with your treason, you must drag everyone else around you down as well. What do you think is going to happen when you get caught? It won’t just be you who’s killed.”

He felt as if a chasm were opening up beneath him, threatening to swallow him. He scrabbled at the edges of his consciousness, trying to find purchase - to hang on. They must be nearly at the transport now - he’d take the antidote and banish this spectre from his brain.

_ You’re dead.  _ He thought at his father’s voice.  _ I outlived you, just like I outlived Brooks, and Snoke, and your pet Cardinal, just like I will outlive everyone who doubts me now. You have no power over me _ .

As in life, this illusory version of his father paid him no mind. “I wonder if Lieutenant Mitaka would still put his life on the line for you, if he knew why you’re really so desperate to get to Barison,” he went on, “this pathetic little affair of yours. You must know that Poe Dameron could never feel for you the way you do about him. What you want - what you think you want - is something you can’t have. People like you don’t have the capacity for what you’re looking for. He knows that too, you know. He sees what a hollow thing you are, and he will use you for all the information you’re worth and then leave you to die. What little you  _ have  _ achieved, all that desperate climbing, will be for nothing. Mark my words, he won’t be there with you when you die for this. You’ll be alone and he won’t lose a wink of sleep.”

_ Stop it! Just stop! _

And as if in response to his mental command he felt the gurney jerk to a sudden halt.

“What is going on here?”

Hux’s blood froze in his veins. He was so close to safety, to the antidote waiting for him in the transport.

“Supreme Leader,” Mitaka’s voice faltered and jumped up several registers. “Supreme Leader, sir, it’s General Hux, he collapsed on the bridge, there’s - there’s something wrong with him. Medical couldn’t do anything - they referred him to a facility on Axxila.”

“Where is the Allegiant General?” Ren demanded.

“He’s in meetings, Supreme Leader, all day, I believe.” The lieutenant’s voice was thin and unsteady. 

A long pause. He tried to fight through the darkness that had consumed his vision. He couldn’t risk slipping deeper into his stupor, letting his unquiet mind betray him with another poison-induced auditory hallucination. Strain as he might, he could just barely make out the shadow of Kylo Ren looming above him. All it would take would be one bit of Force sorcery on his weakened mind and he could be exposed.

The effort of keeping himself from slipping into the yawning maw of unconsciousness was becoming too much for him. If Ren kept stalling them here he was done for.

“Can’t say I ever liked that one,” Brendol remarked casually, “but he’s always been right about you, always been able to see what a pathetic little creature you are. Does it eat you up inside, taking orders from a man who represents everything you were trained to eschew? Chaos, self-interest, raw emotion - to say nothing of his rebel scum parents - but he was born with power, and you were born with nothing but shame in your stomach and a long, hard climb ahead of you. And you’ll never beat him. You can’t.”

More horrifying than his father’s commentary was the palpable sense that he was being watched in his own brain - that Kylo Ren was observing all of this.

_ Get out of my head! _ He thought at Ren, at his father, at the deeper darkness of unconsciousness edging in from the corners of his clouded vision. But Ren’s presence only probed deeper into his brain - pushing painfully against the mental barriers Hux had built up there. He felt the insidious force test the boundary -

He was on the floor of his father’s living quarters, limp and bloody in a pool of spilled liquor, trying to muster the strength to rise -

He was grappling at the edge of the chasm on Cirus II, holding on for dear life -

He was sprinting through the woods on Arkanis, his father dragging him by the hand -

He was choking on nothing in Snoke’s throne room, ash and flame still raining down all around him, Kylo Ren’s face swimming in and out of focus -

_ Long live the Supreme Leader. _

Someone he was just strong enough to obscure from his memory was holding him - skin against skin and softly pleading with him -  _ Why not be free for the first time in your life? _

He was fighting tooth and nail to reclaim control of his mind, but Ren was too strong and his consciousness was failing. He felt the other man take stock of his body - his pounding heart, his useless limbs, the agony just barely suppressed by the painkillers.

_ Pathetic. _

The pressure lifted from his mind. Kylo Ren had released him.

“Go,” the Supreme Leader ordered Mitaka, “I doubt he’ll make it to Axxila, but you’re welcome to try.”

The triumph in Ren’s voice was barely disguised by the vocoder in his mask. Let him rest on his laurels while he could. Let him think he had eliminated Hux without having to lift a finger. It would only be sweeter when he returned ‘recovered’ in a few days, ready to blow open this whole rotten conspiracy and bring down Ren and Pryde and all the rest of them.

“How many of your peers do you think will celebrate when they think you’re done for?” There was a mocking edge to Brendol’s voice. “How many of them have been wishing for this for years? You never were very good at making friends, were you Armitage?”

But he was too relieved to care what his father said to him as he felt the hovergurney resume its motion. It was safe - he was safe - and just as unconsciousness was on the verge of taking him, he heard the hiss of the hangar doors opening. 

“That transport there,” Mitaka was saying, his voice again imbued with that uncharacteristic authority, “I called ahead from medical - I’ll need it for General Hux. He needs to get to Axxila for treatment at once.”

“Of course, sir,” a trooper’s voice, “we have a pilot on standby-”

“No,” the lieutenant insidsted, “it has to be a droid. We have no idea if he’s contagious. Look at him. We can’t risk any of our personnel being exposed to ...that.”

A pause followed by a disgusted grunt from the trooper. “You’re right,” he said, “that looks bad. I’ll get a droid in there right away sir.”

More motion, more sound. He sensed the dimming of the overhead lights when the hovergurney crossed the threshold into the transport. Suddenly hands were gripping him - lifting him from the gurney to a hard cot at the back of the transport. Someone gripped his side, and agony shot white hot from the point of pressure, forcing a pathetic whimper from his lips.

“Pathetic.” His father remarked with a cool chuckle. “What a spectacle this must be for your troops. No wonder nobody respects you.”

“Careful!” Lieutenant Mitaka barked. “Don’t manhandle him!”

“Mitaka,” he managed, hearing his own weak whisper as if from a million miles away.

“General!” He heard the lieutenant gasp, sensed him drawing closer. “You made it sir, you’re on the transport.”

“Th-thank you,” he breathed, “for everything. I promise you … you will be rewarded for this. I promise...”

“Save your strength, sir.” Mitaka cautioned him. Once again he felt the ghost of pressure on his shoulder. “Good luck. I’ll see you when you return.”

Then Mitaka’s presence disappeared. He heard the sound of the transport’s door closing - the hum of the engine coming to life. He fought unconsciousness a little longer, trying to make out the shape of his surroundings. 

Suddenly a sharp pain shot up his arm. A needle. The antidote. Thank the stars. Exhaustion was overtaking him in earnest now, pitch darkness swallowing the lighter cloudiness of his vision.

“You,” he forced his voice raggedly from his lips, addressing the droid that had injected him with the antidote. “Tell the pilot … we aren’t going to Axxila. Reroute to Barison. Do not report the change. This is a classified mission of the highest importance to the Order. Do you… understand?”

The last thing he heard before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness, was a chirp of assent from the droid.

“You might get away with this now,” his father’s voice followed him into the abyss, “but you will get caught, one way or another you will pay for your treason. You’re no hero - you’re nothing at all - a pathetic, spineless, traitorous little bastard. You were born to nothing, and nothing is all you will ever be.” 

_ You may be right about how this will end,  _ he thought,  _ I may well fail, I might be killed for this and die alone, like you said, but not today. Today I succeeded, I’ll live on, and you’re as dead as you’ve ever been.  _

  
  


___

The Unknown Regions, 21 Years Before 

He had nearly made it to the medbay without incident when he ran into Grand Admiral Sloane. Usually, the sight of the woman would have been a comfort, but tonight, all he wanted was to get fixed up and go to bed. He wanted this whole miserable day to be over and done with. Not that tomorrow would be any better.

Sloane’s expression flew in an instant from warm to shocked to angry as she crossed the space between them and stared in horror at his face.

“Stars Armitage what did he do to you?” She exclaimed, a white gloved hand tilting his face up by the chin as she surveyed the damage. She caught sight of the still bleeding palm of his hand, and inspected that too, staining her glove with his blood. “That vile, pathetic man, I’ll make him pay for-”

“No!” Armitage blurted out, adding quickly, “Grand Admiral Sloane, Sir, please don’t.” Every time she had a talk with his father about his treatment, it only made the man more bitter and angry, only made him harbor more resentment towards Armitage and his relationship with the Grand Admiral. “I really am alright,” he said, “he only meant to slap me, I was the one who slipped and fell onto the broken glass. It wasn’t all his fault. And besides, I shouted at him first. I was out of line I shouldn’t have-”

“You don’t need to defend him, Armitage,” Sloane cut in sternly, “what he did was unacceptable.”

“Please,” Armitage repeated, his weary voice cracking under the strain of his urgency. “Please don’t say anything to him.”

“You know I can’t allow him to flagrantly disobey me like this. I ordered him to stop a decade ago. Time and time again I’ve had to repeat myself. The disrespect-”

“Please!” Armitage practically shouted, having to double over and gasp at the pain that caused his ribs. He took a few faltering steps back from Sloane and stared at her, with all the intensity he could muster as he panted “every … every time you talk to him it gets worse. He only gets more angry. I don’t need you to come in and protect me. I need to face this on my own. After all he’s … he’s my father. He’s all I have, I shouldn’t …”

A myriad of expressions flickered across Sloane’s face, her lips tensing as if she were considering saying something, but at last she simply frowned and shook her head. “Alright, fine,” she said, “I’ll say nothing to your father this time. Now, let’s get you to the medbay.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

The two walked in silence for a long moment, Armitage still panting through the pain.

“You know,” Sloane said at last,” your father isn’t all you have.”

“Yes he is.” Armitage sighed. “He ...told me the truth about my mother. He showed me a contract. She signed me away the moment I was born. She didn’t … she didn’t want me.”

“And what of it?” The Grand Admiral cocked her head. 

“What?” Armitage wasn’t sure what response he had expected from Sloane but this wasn’t it.

“Your mother signed you away, your father is a violent buffoon, what of it? There is nothing you can do to change the fact that you were born to cruel and unfortunate circumstances, but that past does not define you. Blood does not define you. That’s the point of the First Order. No one is unwanted. No one is without use or value, no matter where you come from, you have a place here, and a chance to be great. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Her tone was clipped and professional as ever but her eyes were warm and intense.

“It’s just … what if there really is something wrong with me?” It slipped out before he could stop it. “ What if there’s a reason no one wants me? Maybe I am … maybe I am …” he wasn’t sure what word he was looking for.  _ Useless? Unloveable? Irreparable? _ He let silence fill it in. “Why else would my mother…”

His voice hitched on a sob that he was determined not to let out. Grand Admiral Sloane had always been kind to him, but he didn’t want to cry in front of her. He couldn’t risk making her think he was weak too.

“I can’t pretend to know your mother’s reasons for giving you up,” Sloane said, “but I do know that none of them were your fault. And I know you. You are a smart young man, Armitage. You will be a great soldier someday, a great leader, a great man. Until then, let fools like your father underestimate you, but don’t believe them for a second. There is nothing wrong with you. That imbecile you are unfortunate enough to call a father is not all you have. ”

She patted him stiffly, almost gingerly on the back, and though the initial touch made him wince away, reactions still primed for violence, he ultimately accepted the little show of affection gratefully. They were approaching the medbay now, much to Armitage’s relief, as he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back his tears. 

They paused at the door and Sloane faced him, placing a white gloved hand on each of his shoulders and giving him a very serious look.

“Be careful and clever and patient,” she said, “and before you know it, all of this will be a distant bad memory. Now look smart, soldier,” her expression cracked into a smile. “Get patched up. Happy Empire Day.”

“Happy Empire Day,” he returned, with as much of a smile as he could manage. He did not know if he believed everything Sloane was saying - that his mother not wanting him didn’t matter, that his father was wrong about him, that any of this was ever going to get any easier - but it was still quite nice to hear.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me for 22 chapters! We've got some well-earned sweetness with our angst this week! Hux is a genius when it comes to strategy and an idiot when it comes to his feelings, as per usual

Barison, One Month Before

The change of clothes Lieutenant Mitaka had packed him would hardly have been his first choice for what was ostensibly an official handoff of information, or for what was actually a long anticipated reunion with Poe Dameron. The shirt was some lightweight material, an off-white that was uncomfortably close to his skin tone. It and the khaki trousers were several sizes too large for him. Mitaka must have pilfered them from the laundry room without much thought for size or fit. He knew there were more pressing matters at hand than his appearance, nevertheless he was painfully aware of how the excess of fabric only served to emphasize his scrawny form, how the light colors made his white face almost ghostly. Then again, the last time they had seen one another they were both sleep deprived and starving and frostbitten, so this had to be at least a slight improvement. At least the lieutenant had packed a belt too, and a simple black standard issue cane from the medbay. 

Hux was infinitely grateful for that last item.  _ Some temporary nerve damage _ … he thought bitterly as he tried to force his still-numb and trembling legs to carry him properly. He would have stern words for Opan when he returned to the  _ Steadfast _ . The poison might have ensured his clean getaway, but it had also greatly weakened him. If, stars forbid, it came to a fight, he doubted his shaking, ungainly hands could even draw his blaster, let alone pull the trigger. 

Barison was a planet of small islands and vast seas. As the transport flew lower over the surface, Hux could just make out networks of bridges connecting some of the islands, open markets on platforms and houses on stilts with high peaked roofs. The coordinates Poe had given him for the safehouse led to a larger island, mostly devoid of settlement except for a single dwelling right at the edge of the southern shore. Hux had the transport leave him a half a klick out into the wooded terrain of the island. His legs may be weak, but a hard walk was far better than risking the First Order droids seeing Poe Dameron. They were programmed to listen and obey when he instructed them that this was an official mission of utmost secrecy - they would give false reports to  _ Steadfast _ , confirming that he was receiving treatment on Axxila, they would submit themselves for a memory wipe upon their return, but he still did not want to risk leaving his treason out in the open for them to see. 

“Stay in low orbit,” he instructed as he made slow progress down the ship’s ramp. “I should be no more than twenty-four hours on the surface. I will call up on a secure frequency when I am ready for extraction. And remember, this mission is of the absolute utmost secrecy. Code Zerek-Black. You are not to report any observations you may make. You are to stick to the cover story you have been given. The future of the First Order depends on it.”

“Yes sir, General Hux,” confirmed the droid pilot. 

A trill of assent from the astromech. 

Hux patted his pockets, feeling for his two coms, and his drive containing the secrets he was trading, and lastly for the blaster tucked in the waistband of the khaki trousers, before he waved the ship away and set off in the direction of the safehouse.

It only took a few minutes for him to regret his decision to walk. The air was hot and so heavy with moisture he felt as though he were drowning on dry land. An infuriating chorus of insects buzzed and chirped from every side of him, sometimes flitting horrifyingly close to his face. Even the trees felt malicious - draped in thick vines like tentacles waiting to reach out and grab him. Every step on the uneven ground was hell for his legs, which seemed less and less like limbs and more and more like sandbags the longer he forced them to walk. What a terrible planet, deceptively beautiful from above and nightmarish on the surface. What was Dameron playing at making him come here? He had better have news about Sloane and the conspiracy she had uncovered. After all, he was risking his life and his reputation for this, on top of slogging through this fetid, humid hellscape of a planet.

And what would Dameron have found? In the weeks since first discovering the Grand Admiral’s message and tasking Poe with investigating it for him, Hux had tried not to dwell on it. Best not to agonize over what he could not control. He didn’t dare let himself imagine the best-case scenario - that she wasn’t dead, that she was imprisoned, or had escaped. But even thinking it now allowed hope to spread like a cancer through his brain. No. Logically, he knew she was dead. She must be. The best he could allow himself to hope for was answers and proof. How she died, who was behind it, what was out there in the Unknown Regions giving those sinister instructions - if he could learn that, he could avenge her, bring her killers to justice, and secure his own rise to power all in one fell swoop. He’d walk through a thousand wretched jungles for that. 

And then all thought evaporated from his brain as he broke through the treeline to see Poe Dameron, leaning against his X-Wing, facing away from Hux, out towards the sea. The man had stripped off his flight suit and wore only an undershirt above dark trousers. Hux nearly stopped to pinch himself - he had had this dream before, he was sure. But he wasn’t dreaming now - the shooting pain in his legs let him know that.

“There you are, Dameron!” He called, his voice as clipped and cool as he could make it despite his trek and the heat and the sight before him. He wanted to maintain at least the pretense of this being an official meeting.

“Hugs!”

Poe did not bother trying to keep his cool - his face split into a blinding grin as he turned to face Hux, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. He stopped just short, almost as if he were overwhelmed, as if he didn’t know what to do now that Hux was actually within reach. His hands wavered on the edge of touching him, just barely ghosting along the sleeves of his shirt, tracing up the outline of his arms, his shoulders - finally touching - cupping the sides of his face almost gingerly, as if he was afraid to break him. The tenderness of it left Hux dumbfounded, gaping down at Poe’s beaming face before the man attempted to pull him forward for a kiss.

A white hot barb of pain shot up Hux’s spine as he tried to bend forward into the kiss and forced him to recoil with a yelp.

“Sorry,” he said, panting through the agony, “sorry you’ll have to... be careful with me I’m afraid.”

For the first time Poe seemed to register all of him - the pale, sweaty face, the cane gripped tightly in his hand. His expression immediately fell from joy to concern. His hand hastened to grip Hux’s shoulder and offer extra support.

“Shit, Armitage, what happened to you?” 

“It’s nothing serious,” He tried to reassure the other man, though the strain in his voice was anything but convincing. “Just the aftereffects of the poison… a touch of nerve damage - but it’s only temporary. Already better than it was earlier.”

“I’m sorry, the aftereffects of  _ what?” _ Poe demanded incredulously. 

Hux sighed. He had avoided mentioning his plan to Dameron when they’d spoken earlier for precisely this reason. “I took a bit of poison. Just enough to simulate illness, to get me rushed off the ship for ‘treatment’. It was the only way to get off the  _ Steadfast _ without being caught or questioned. It was rather a brilliant plan, actually,” he added defensively. 

Poe was staring at him like he’d stopped speaking Basic. “You  _ poisoned  _ yourself to get off your ship? Are you insane? What is wrong with you? If I’d known you’d do something that crazy I’d -”

“You’d what?” Hux asked cooly. “Have me go and ask Allegiant General Pryde politely for some time off? You’d pick me up yourself in your X-WIng? You’d call the whole thing off? I took stock of the threat and I devised a plan to avoid it, just as I always have. You don’t have a monopoly on risky plans Dameron, the only difference is mine actually went off without a hitch.”

The other man cracked a grudging smile at that and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, “you’re already sunburned.” 

Hux shook off Dameron’s arm and limped into the house on his own power. 

“Where’s your droid?” He asked, grunting at the effort of climbing the few steps to the door.

“Back on the base,” said Poe, “covering for me.”

“So it’s just us then?”

“Just us.”

The safehouse was a simple, single story wood building, with a high peaked roof of what appeared to be layers of stretched leather or canvas. He had never seen architecture like it. Inside, the house was one large, open space with only one door leading off of it, presumably to the refresher. The entire back wall was comprised of a series of windows and a sliding transparisteel door opening out onto a deck that faced the sea. He also noted the single, large bed in the back. Aside from the lights and kitchen appliances, there was not one piece of advanced tech in sight. 

“This safehouse of your friend’s is hardly very safe,” he remarked dryly, taking a seat at a heavy wooden table. “Not defensible at all.”

“It’s a place to lie low, not to make a last stand,” said Poe, taking a seat opposite him. “The Barisoni hate technology. No notable exports besides seafood. This place barely leaves a trace on the map. It’s the kind of place you come to retire, or to hide. But…” he added with a wry smile, “there is an anti-aircraft gun in the roof… just in case.”

Hux huffed a dry chuckle and adjusted himself in his chair, folding his arms on the table in front of him. Good as it was to see Dameron in the flesh again -and it was very good indeed- he had come here for a reason that was bigger than his own pleasure.

“Can I get you anything?” Poe asked, rising from his chair and nodding towards what served as the kitchen. “Water? Something stronger?”

“I think it’s time we discussed what we came here to discuss,” he said.

Poe got him water anyway, sliding the glass across the table as he sat back down. “Yeah,” he said at last, “I guess we’d better.”

Hux produced the little drive from his pocket and laid it on the table, just out of the other man’s reach. “As promised, information on an upcoming attack. Troop numbers, access codes, strategies, it’s all there.”

Poe reached forwards to take it and Hux slid it back a few more inches. 

“Not just yet,” he said cooly, “it’s all yours once you give me what you’ve found out for me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Of course not.” He was betraying his own side - he had to at least put on a show of reticence. 

Poe shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “Probably smart,” he allowed, placing a drive of his own on the table. “But I looked into what you asked me. Everything I found is here. It wasn’t easy - someone tried hard to make all of this disappear, but lucky for you, I know people who are really, really good at sniffing out secrets.”

“What did you find?” Hux asked, sliding his drive to Dameron and taking the other, turning it over in his still trembling fingers as if its secrets were right there for the reading.

Dameron sighed. “I’m sorry, Armitage, Rae Sloane is dead. She never made it to Ansion.”

Why did it feel like he had swallowed a back hole? He knew she was dead, from the moment he had seen her message - if he was being honest with himself, he had known since she failed to return from her mission twenty years ago. But to hear it, out loud, with Dameron’s serious expression… “What happened to her?”

“A ship matching the I.D. of her shuttle was attacked and destroyed just outside the Ansion System. The ship that did it belonged to a known bounty hunter. The New Republic did a half-assed investigation and wrote it off as a simple underworld skirmish. Some bounty hunter taking out some rogue Imp - it was pretty normal back then.” Hux’s expression must have betrayed his unsurprised disgust because Poe added defensively, “Don’t look so smug. The New Republic’s negligence is the only reason the First Order was able to exist for so long.”

“It’s the reason the First Order is necessary.” Hux corrected him coolly.

“Before you get all high and mighty, why don’t you let me finish,” the other man said. “The New Republic wrote it off, but I didn’t. I looked into the bounty hunter, and sure enough, he had done a whole lot of jobs for the First Order. In the five years leading up to that attack he’d taken a dozen contracts from the Order. Of course, back then the New Republic didn’t even know what the First Order was, but it’s easy enough to spot if you know the words to look for. Anyway, that was this bounty hunter’s last mission. Went off into the Unknown Regions right after - probably to get his money - and never returned. New Republic let that go too. It’s the Unknown Regions - people go missing out there all the time and there’s never any evidence left behind.”

“Whoever hired him had him killed to cover their tracks.” Hux muttered.

“Exactly. And the trail goes cold there, at least with the info we have now. Sloane’s records obviously stop right before she left.”

“Right.” He knew Pryde was behind it, beyond a shadow of a doubt he was sure, but without a smoking blaster he could do nothing to bring him to justice. But perhaps there was a way to find more damning evidence. “Back in those days,” he reasoned aloud, “the Order was always short on funds. Every little expense would leave a dent in the budget and bounty hunters aren’t cheap. Even if this one never got his final payout, a substantial part of the payment is almost always expected upfront. There will be a trace - a withdrawal that size would leave a dent. If I go back far enough in the Order’s financial records, it will be there. And there were only a select few people with the power to access that kind of money back then, Allegiant General Pryde among them. I could slice the system and find out which ship the withdrawal was made from. That would provide the smoking blaster I need to prove Pryde’s guilt.”

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to slice the system?”

“It’s not safe,” he said, “but if everything else is in place, then it may be worth the risk. I’ll have to build the rest of my case first, of course - going back through the budgets shouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions. I may be the only person who bothers keeping track of those things.” 

The mystery of the slashed Stormtrooper Program budget would provide an excuse for digging further into the budgets. Perhaps they were even connected - ordered by that same shadowy authority.

“And what did you find on the communications from the Unknown Regions?” He asked Poe.

The other man sighed and shook his head. “Not much. I tried triangulating the signals - at first I thought it was from somewhere in Chiss Space, but it’s not. It’s further out. There’s no planet in that location in any records - not that means much - they call it the ‘Unknown Regions’ for a reason. Still, if there was something out there advanced enough to be corresponding with the First Order - moving money around - it’s weird that it’s managed to stay completely off the map. Those comms weren’t coming from some new alien tech either - it’s a standard signal format. Whatever is out there is using tech developed in the known galaxy no more than fifty years ago. Are you sure the First Order never made it out that far?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Hux snapped. “I lived it. We tried to go out further, but it was too dangerous. I saw solar storms tear star destroyers apart - saw gravity wells the size of star systems that decimated the fleet. Even as far as we went it was brutal. Further in … no one could navigate that. Not with our current knowledge and tech.”

“What about with the Force?” Poe asked.

It did stink of sorcery. But if it was some sort of Force nonsense, then his chances of defeating it were exponentially more grim. “Perhaps…”

“I could ask General Organa,” the other man offered, “or Rey?” 

“No.” Hux insisted. “No, absolutely not. The last thing we need is the Resistance nosing around such a sensitive matter, getting Ren’s hackles up. It will only lead to more deaths on both sides. Perhaps catching the conspirators on our end will draw out whoever or whatever it is.”

He would very much like the excuse to interrogate Allegiant General Pryde. How long could the man keep his sinister secrets under the ministrations of a torture droid? 

“One way or another,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dameron, “they’ll pay. All of them. They have to pay.”

As the initial thrill of uncovering more of the mystery wore off, it left only grief and bitterness behind. Sloane was dead, and the ones responsible were still alive and in power. The First Order he had believed in, so much so that he committed unforgivable atrocities in its name, was being corrupted, morphing into something he did not recognize. He had been bearing her vision like a torch for decades - but if he could not stop this corruption, if he could not avenge her, then what was it all for? She had been there for him when no one else in the galaxy had. She had shown him what the First Order could be - what righteous work it could do - and she had trusted him to bring those goals to fruition. She had had faith in him, and he couldn’t allow that faith to be misplaced.

Suddenly Poe’s hand was on his - squeezing his fingers softly. He almost recoiled, but something stopped him. He needed the touch - the tether to reality.

“I’m sorry,” the other man said, “about Rae Sloane. You loved her like a mother, didn’t you?”

Hux sighed down at the table. “I ...don’t know that I know what that means in practice -  _ love _ . Not really. Certainly not for a mother. But I … I did care for her. And I never doubted that she cared for me, she might have been the only one in the galaxy who did.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both men seeming to waver on the cusp of saying something, and deciding against it.

“You feel up for a little walk?” Asked Poe, breaking the silence.

He tested his legs. They were still weak, but the pain had already lessened. They could carry him with the help of the cane. The antidote was working slowly, but it was working.

“Yes,” he said, “I think I’d like that.”

He let Poe help him up and keep a steadying hand on his arm as they left the house. The heat was less oppressive on the beach, a salt breeze coming in off the water to cut the humidity. He could not remember the last time he had been at a beach. Perhaps not since the stormy shores of Arkanis when he was small. Where the water there had been grey, and roiling with danger, the oceans here were blue and gentle - lapping at the sand with quiet little waves. A man could lose himself here, could stare into that clear blue sea while the rest of the galaxy burned, and never spare a thought.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Asked Poe.

“It is. It’s… peaceful.” The word felt alien on his tongue.

“How’re you feeling,” the other man asked, concern in his eyes, “after… you know… everything?”

Hux shook his head, clearing some of the trance the waves had lulled him into. “I knew she was dead,” he said. “I’ve known for a long time. And yet…”

“It still hurts.” Poe nodded knowingly. 

“It does.”

Poe looked out at the sea, at the low, lazy afternoon sun sitting a comfortable distance above the water. “I was eight when my mom died,” he said, “it wasn’t sudden, we knew she was sick. Still - she was there - sick but there - and then she wasn’t. That’s sudden, isn’t it? And it felt like gravity stopped working - like everything was just floating away because there was nothing left to hold it together. And I kept thinking - it’ll feel better after the funeral, it’ll feel better in a year, in two, in five. But it never happened. In the end, all I could do was move on with my life, and remember her - try to do right by her. I think that’s all anyone can do.”

“I’m sure she would be proud of all you’ve done.” Hux said.  _ I wish I could say the same of Sloane for me. _

“This is hers,” the other man said, indicating the silver ring that hung from a chain around his neck, more or less level with the collar of his undershirt. Hux had seen it before - during their tryst on the ice planet, but he hadn’t wanted to risk asking after it and crossing a boundary. “Her wedding ring. I’ve kept it - as a reminder of her, I guess - and what she had with my dad. It’s good to know that people can find love, even in the middle of a war, and they can have a life after it too. I figure someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll find something like what they had, and I’ll give it to someone. It feels like a good way to honor her. Not just by fighting like she did, but by loving like she did too.”

Hux studied the lapping waves and wondered if Dameron believed what he was saying - if he really believed in love or life after war. It had always been plain to him that some people were only meant to live in chaos. Even if he saved the galaxy, if he brought peace and order to it, he did not delude himself into thinking that he would get to enjoy that peace. He didn’t think he would even know how. That might be the most fundamental difference between himself and Dameron. Poe had gotten to grow up in something that could be called ‘after the war’, for him - his father - Rae Sloane - the war had never ended. He had never learned to adapt to peacetime. It wasn’t in his DNA.

“That’s very admirable.” He said. “I’m not sure that Grand Admiral Sloane ever loved anyone - if she did it was before my time - but she loved the galaxy. And she loved the First Order - all that it could be. If she could see how corrupted it’s become… that’s why I have to fix this - to expose the conspiracy, to bring down Pryde and Kylo Ren.”

Poe sighed. “You know, this whole time I’ve been fighting the First Order thinking it was just pure evil - but looking into this whole Sloane thing for you - I realized it’s worse than that. It’s not just evil, it’s insidious.”

“What?” Hux recoiled from the passion in the other man’s voice, freeing his arm from his steadying grasp and stopping to look at him. “I thought we were past this. We aren’t going to change each other’s minds, Poe. You know that.”

“Just listen,” there was an almost pleading quality to Dameron’s voice. “Listen, I - it’s killing me to hear to you talk like that - to keep dodging what you  _ know _ is the truth. How long are you going to keep telling yourself that other people are corrupting the First Order? When are you going to accept that it isn’t  _ corrupted _ \- it’s  _ corrupt? _ Always has been, always will be. Even if Pryde killed Sloane, the First Order is just as guilty, because it was doing what systems like that are supposed to do.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Hux, unsure if he really wanted the answer.

“I mean, do you actually remember a time when the First Order worked the way you wanted it to? The way Sloane did? There’s always going to be a Resistance, or a Kylo Ren, or a General Pryde, you’ll always be looking over your shoulder, right up until the day you don’t look fast enough and someone stabs you in the back. Even if you follow all the rules, if you do everything right, the First Order will kill you, Armitage, like it killed Rae Sloane, like it was always designed to do. And the worst thing is, I _know_ you know that - you keep talking around it, but you _do_ know the truth. You’re too smart not to. I just - _Please,_ don’t throw your life away. It isn’t too late for you to get out.”

The heartbreaking urgency and sincerity in Poe’s voice turned Hux’s indignation into grief before he even knew what it was. His legs felt like giving out under him, caving beneath the weight of what Poe was asking - the horrible truth that he did know but hadn’t wanted to say. But he’d have to say it now.

“Oh Poe,” he said, “it  _ is  _ too late. Even if you were right, if the First Order is fundamentally broken, I’ve been in it my whole life. The First Order made me - and I made it. I designed Starkiller Base, I gave the order to fire it on the Hosnian System. I have so much blood on my hands. If the First Order is wrong, then it was all for nothing - I killed all those trillions for nothing and I can’t-” his voice broke and he turned out to sea, hiding his face from the other man. “I can’t live with that - I can’t undo it - all I can do is stay the course and try to make all those atrocities mean something - finish what I started.”

"You’re right,” said Poe, “you can’t undo it. But you also can’t make it mean something. You don’t get to decide what those people’s lives mean, or what justifies their deaths. All you  _ can  _ do is live with it and choose to do better. You can make sure no one else dies because of the First Order. Honor them, and Rae Sloane, by destroying the thing that killed all of them. It’s never too late for that. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Hux turned to see Poe beside him, staring at him with the most agonizing look of hope - and something else too - so warm it was almost scalding.

“You don’t have to keep fighting forever.” The other man said, “the whole galaxy doesn’t have to be your enemy - you could just live in it - explore it - there’s a future for you out there - a future for  _ us _ , if you want it.”

Hux wished a tidal wave would crash in and swallow them, or that the setting sun would go supernova. He would give anything to die here, now, with Poe Dameron, with this beautiful, fleeting hope in the air, with the war seeming a universe away. Because it couldn’t last - not even another moment and soon every truth spoken gently here would be a wound and he would be left alone to bleed out from them.

“I need to go back,” he said at last. “I need to try and fix this my way - to avenge Sloane, to bring down Kylo Ren. I need to try to save the First Order, the whole galaxy if I can, even if it is the death of me.”

Poe sighed and shook his head. “I understand. You need to do what you think is right. But you know I love -” he coughed and cleared his throat, “ _ I’d _ love not to lose you just yet. Don’t go throwing your life away for them.”

“I won’t,” Hux promised.  _ If I die, my life won’t be thrown away,  _ he thought,  _ it will be sacrificed in the line of duty. _

“I mean it, Armitage,” Poe said, putting a firm hand on Hux’s upper arm and squeezing gently. “Don’t … don’t do anything brave and stupid.”

“I believe being brave and stupid is more your style anyway,” Hux said, scoffing to mask the tightness in his throat. An emotion too big for his heart was crushing his chest. “But … thank you.”

The sun was well and truly setting now, tinting the foamy crests of the waves a rosy gold. The heat had given way to a gentle warmth. Hux’s legs were weary but they no longer trembled or assaulted him with sudden shots of pain. 

“We should head back,” Poe said, “I picked up some of that famous Barisoni seafood before you got here. I figured I’d cook something for you. If I can’t convince you to leave the First Order, maybe trying some real food will do the trick.”

“You obviously have a high opinion of your cooking skills,” a comfortably familiar smirk lifted the corners of his lips.

“Well, you’re welcome to put me in my place if I’m overselling it,” Poe grinned.

The tide was coming in as they made their way back to the safehouse. Poe kicked off his boots and walked in the surf, and after some cajoling, Hux agreed to do the same. He gasped when the water - colder than he had expected - lapped at his toes. The sea on Arkanis had been too rough for such activities.

The smell of cooking fish was another first for Hux - or at least, a first since his early childhood. Poe had promised to cook for him, but the other man wasn’t content to let Hux sit idly by. He put him to work slicing vegetables. He had never done that before either, but he knew his way around a knife.

“You’re a natural,” Dameron remarked with a laugh.

“I suppose I ought to be. My mother was a kitchen worker, perhaps it’s in my genes.”

“Really?” The other man cocked his head and it occurred to Hux that he had never actually let that bit of his past slip out before. He was almost surprised at how easily it had come out. “Did she cook with you?”

“Oh stars no,” Hux scoffed, “she didn’t want anything to do with me. I never knew the woman.” 

“Oh,” Poe awkwardly studied the cut of fish sizzling in the pan. “Sorry.”

“It is what it is.” Hux shrugged. “At any rate, I forgot to ask you - how was your supply run?”

“Turned out to be a bit more than a supply run,” said Poe, grinning ruefully. “We picked up a distress call and long story short, things got out of hand, I might have blown up one of your ships, all in a day’s work, really.”

“Well I’m sure I’ll hear all about that when I get back to the  _ Steadfast _ .” Hux huffed a wry laugh. 

“It was just a light cruiser,” said Dameron, “if that helps.”

All of this - cooking with Poe, joking with him, talking about his day, felt like a snippet out of somebody else’s life - someone cut out for domesticity - for happiness - the kind of person who might one day be worthy of that ring the other man wore around his neck. At first Hux felt uncomfortable - a shapeshifter, an imposter in himself - but over time he settled into it. He could be that happy, domestic person for a night. 

“Wait,” Poe said as Hux made to sit at the heavy wood table with his food. “We should eat outside. There’s something I want you to see.”

Poe carried two chairs out while Hux brought their plates. There was more flavor in the steam wafting off the food than there had been in anything Hux had tasted in years. They sat down outside just as the sun was disappearing beneath the distant horizon. Dameron took a seat and rested his feet up on the railing of the deck while Hux sat straight backed beside him. All the islands between them and the horizon were lit up with the warm glow of what must have been hundreds of lanterns.

“What is that?” He asked, trying to make out what was happening on the nearest of the islands.

“The locals have a festival tonight. It’s a seasonal holiday - their festival of lights.”

“What’s so special about tonight?”

“You’ll see,” Dameron promised. “What do you think of the food?”

Hux cut through the flaky white flesh of the fish, the smell alone almost overwhelming, and took a bite. Perhaps he had eaten fish as a child on Arkanis - but it had certainty never been like this. The flavors exploded, beautiful and alien in his mouth - butter soft and salty and bright with spice all at once. His brain had never had to process such a complex combination of tastes before. It almost couldn’t cope - almost made him gag despite the fact that it was the best thing he had ever eaten.

“It’s amazing,” he breathed.

“You know the crazy thing? By normal standards I’m a pretty average cook, but it blew Finn’s mind too, and Rey’s. Maybe my calling is making food for people who have literally never tasted it before.”

“Maybe it is,” Hux agreed. “It’s certainly in my best interest if you quit your career as a pilot and go into the restaurant business.”

“Only if you quit your job as a general to be my sous chef.”

They both chuckled at the ridiculous, beautiful impossibility of that.

All of a sudden, a green glimmer in the water caught Hux’s eye - then another further out, and another. Before his very eyes the sea began to glow a bright, pulsating green. He heard, even at a distance, a faint noise from the nearest island - a cheer, he thought, or a chant of some kind.

“Incredible,” he gasped, “it’s bioluminescent plankton, isn’t it? I’ve read about that.”

“Yeah,” Poe said, “pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say.”

“The Barisoni celebrate the plankton because it marks the beginning of the most fertile fishing season. That’s what the festival is for.”

Hux looked askance at Poe. “Since when were you an expert on Barisoni culture?” He asked.

“Since I looked it up on the way here to impress you,” the other man grinned. “Is it working?”

“It certainly is,” he couldn’t stop the genuine smile that spread across his face. “The food, the view, the educational banter, it’s enough to make a man weak in the knees.”

“Are you sure that’s not just that poison you took?”

“I’m sure.”

“You know,” Dameron’s smile took on a wicked gleam in the green glow, “this bioluminescent plankton makes pretty great mood lighting.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Hux, but he was already leaning over to kiss Poe, hands clutching at the fabric of his undershirt. 

They stumbled awkwardly to their feet, still intertwined and grasping at each other like their lives depended on it, when a chirp issued from Hux’s trouser pocket.

“My com,” he broke the kiss to search for it.

“Forget about it,” Poe urged him, lips against his ear. “Forget all of it tonight. Just for tonight, come on. You poisoned yourself, you get a day off.”

“It’s Lieutenant Mitaka,” Hux insisted, “it could be urgent. Something could be really wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I don’t-” Hux started to protest, but all of a sudden, the chirping stopped.

“See?” Poe said, stepping over the threshold into the house and towards the bed. “It’s fine. Probably sat on his com or something. You can call him tomorrow and find out.”

“If he calls again-”

“Then you should answer it. But if he doesn’t, just let go. Let yourself have some fun for a night.”

Hux cast one last anxious look at the com. There was a voice in his head - the smart, tactical voice that had kept him alive this long, that insisted that this was important - that however tempting the image of Poe Dameron, standing in front of the bed, pulling off his undershirt was, he ought to call Mitaka back now. But there was another, louder voice that pleaded to be allowed to be free for one night, to forget the looming danger and the corrupt Order and even good, loyal Mitaka. All of that would be waiting for him upon his return tomorrow, but  _ this _ ? This house and this night and this man? That was fleeting and precious. He sat the com on the bedside table and joined Poe.

Later that night, as the bright moon climbed higher in the sky, they laid on the bed, tired and sweaty and content in the silence. Hux rested his head on the firm expanse of Poe’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, eyes level with the silver ring. Poe’s arms held him secure, and one of his hands played absentmindedly with Hux’s hair. He wished again for death - for everything to end and for this to be his final memory. Just the sound of the sea and Poe Dameron’s heartbeat in his ears. 

“Hey Armitage?” He felt the other man’s voice reverberate through his chest.

“Yes?”

“This was good, wasn’t it? I mean, not just what just happened but everything today.”

“It was.” So good it was painful. So good he already wished he could forget it so he could have any kind of chance of being content with his old life ever again.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d met sooner? Before the war?” 

The thought had crossed Hux’s mind before, but he had always attempted to stomp it out as soon as it came to him. It didn’t do to dwell on what could never be. A man could drown in all the what if’s. 

“Sometimes,” he acquiesced.

He couldn’t help the image that came to his mind - Poe, a dashing young pilot for the New Republic navy, himself a lieutenant, his hands still mostly clean of atrocities. Back then he didn’t know there was as much warmth in the whole galaxy as he now felt towards Poe Dameron. For better or worse, he knew, all the training and all the loyalty the Order had instilled in him couldn’t have kept him from running off.

“Do you think it would be different?” Poe’s fingers pushed a stray lock of hair back from Hux’s forehead.

“For us? Maybe,” he sighed against the warmth of the other man’s chest. “But for the galaxy? If I hadn’t built Starkiller Base, someone else would have made something like it. Not quite as beautiful in its design, but nevertheless, the outcome would be the same.”

“And some other dashing Resistance pilot would have blown it up. Still,” he added sleepily, “might’ve been nice.”

“Yes. It would have been nice to have more time.”

He felt a long exhale escape Dameron’s lungs. “We’re not old men yet, Hugs. There’s still plenty of time.” 

“I don’t think we’re the sort of men who get to be old, Poe.” 

The other man had nothing to say to that. He did not speak again before sleep took him and his hand grew heavy and limp on Hux’s back, his breathing becoming soft snores.

Once he was sure the other man was asleep, Hux slid gently from his place against his chest, and slid his feet down onto the cool wood floor. Slowly, carefully so as not to make the floorboards creak, he made his way to the open back door and stepped out into the gentle warmth of the night air. Beneath him, small glowing waves were lapping at the stilted foundation of the deck, and ahead the sea spread out its endless field of pulsating green light to the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, Hux allowed, surreal as a dream but unlike anything the wildest corners of his subconscious could have generated. For as far as the eye could see there were no hard edges, no tight corners, nothing but the glowing sea, and the now dark islands, and the star-filled sky. It was tranquil, or it would have been, were his thoughts not roiling, his limbs shaking feverishly as a horrible realisation crested the horizon of his mind. As he gripped the railing with knuckles so white they seemed to glow in the night, the thought emerged, fully formed into his brain: 

_ I love him. Blast it all, I love Poe Dameron. _

  
  



	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say for myself with this chapter is I'm sorry! We're now four chapters from the end (five if you count the epilogue). Thank you for bearing with me, and buckle up for the angsty road ahead!

The Unknown Regions _ , _ 15 Years Before

The antechamber to the grand meeting room of First Order High Command was an exercise in hostile design. Its ceiling was high enough to make one feel small, and keep the room just slightly too cool for comfort despite the environmental controls being set the same as everywhere else. At the same time, the space was tight enough to make one claustrophobic and trapped. It didn’t help that newly minted Captain Cardinal was sitting beside him, his imposing, red-armored figure between Hux and the only exit. 

That was fine. He didn’t want to escape. There was nothing to escape from. Being called to meet with Command was an honor. He had just returned from a successful first command and brought the all important datachip back from Cirus II. There was nothing for them to punish or reprimand him for. Unless they knew about what had happened in that base - how he had frozen uselessly when he should have fought - how he had had to be saved by some rebel scum.

He felt eyes on him, cool and unblinking. His father’s junior aide, a man called Tritt Opan was watching him over his datapad, the blue light catching a cunning gleam in his eye. Hux wanted to retort - to snap  _ what are you looking at?  _ and assert his dominance, but something about the man unsettled him profoundly and he lost his nerve. 

Opan must have been about ten years his senior, with wide-set, ever-staring eyes and a large, downturned mouth. It all had the effect of making him look like some sort of unsettling sea creature. He couldn’t remember precisely when Opan had joined his father’s staff, but it must have been some time after he graduated the academy and left the  _ Absolution _ and Brendol Hux’s direct supervision. He had made a point of avoiding contact with his father and as a result he had seen Opan only in passing.

“So,” the man spoke up, his voice as unsettlingly flat as the rest of his affect, “what happened on Cirus II? I understand you were the only one to make it back.”

There was no apparent judgement or malice in Opan’s tone, but Hux bristled at the memory of his losses. “We were ambushed by the Resistance. They came out of nowhere, ambushed us in the base. The absolute lunatics blew the whole structure to bits with all of us inside.”

Cardinal scoffed beside him, the sound coming out as a harsh crackle through his vocoder. “Did you even try to save your troopers?”

“Of course I did,” Hux lied, “but what can one man do against a collapsing mineshaft? I hardly made it out alive myself. Rest assured, the Resistance will pay for this, and so will the New Republic for allowing those terrorists to strike with impunity.” 

“Those are some nice words, but good, honorable leaders don’t come back alone.”

There was an honesty to Cardinal that Hux found almost admirable. Some of the anger he had held as a child had abated over the years, even his hostility to Brendol’s son, and his dogged sense of loyalty to the elder Hux had grown into a larger, more mature sense of duty to the Order and the troopers he trained. He had little in the way of cunning, but he was stubborn and by the book, and had no trouble speaking his mind. He had, somewhere in all these years, become a good man, and Hux envied him for it. It was something he was simply not allowed to do. He had been forced to trade his morals in exchange for survival, while Cardinal sat pretty in his red armor, judging him for it.

Opan seemed to share none of Hux’s complicated feelings for Cardinal. His expression was one of contemptuous amusement. 

“You know, Captain Cardinal, for a man who spends his days training with children, you have a lot of strong opinions about dying honorably in battle.” 

Hux couldn’t suppress the snort that came out of his nose, easing his nerves a little. 

“There’s nothing honorable about dying. Death isn’t anything at all, it just  _ is _ . I think we should just be glad that Lieutenant Hux survived and completed his mission.” Opan’s tone was flat and scathing, and there was an unsettling  _ knowing  _ in his eyes.

“Don’t talk down to me about death,” Cardinal snapped. Hux got the sense this was not the first time the two men had butted heads. The Stormtrooper Captain might know to keep his mouth shut around his betters, but he wasn’t afraid to talk back to lower ranking officers like Hux and Opan, especially when he felt they were out of line. “I was seeing death since before he-” Cardinal nodded at Hux, “knew how to write his name. What do you know about any of this anyway, Opan? You spend all day behind a desk.”

“What I know is my business,” Opan returned ominously.

Cardinal waved the whole conversation off and resumed sitting in silence, now tinged with annoyance.

“So lieutenant,” Opan turned his wide-set, staring eyes back to Hux, “why do you think Command called you here?”

“I-” 

But before Hux could answer, or even consider what he might say, the door to the meeting chamber opened with a hiss, and a droid entered.

“Lieutenant Hux? You may come in. High Command will see you now.”

Hux swallowed hard as he rose from his seat. Whatever happened in that room was going to change his life forever, for better or for worse and all he could do was face his destiny with dignity.

____

Barison, One Month Before

Poe Dameron could not possibly love him back. He might care for Hux, might find him attractive, might even enjoy his company, but he couldn’t love him. Not really. Poe Dameron was a whole human being, and Armitage Hux was a wound, an aberration on the world. This was a fact - as clear cut and indisputable as gravity or the inevitability of death. It didn’t upset him as much as he thought it would. There was nothing he could do but accept it, and so he did.

He woke that morning to the sound of something sizzling on a hot surface; the room filled with a scent so tantalizing it was almost nauseating. He rolled over and out of the bed, coughing on the smell.

“Morning!” Poe called from beside the stovetop. “I’m making eggs. There’s caf too, if you want some.”

“Caf,” Hux repeated, pulling back on his black standard issue briefs (he couldn’t blame Mitaka for not packing him a second pair but he still cringed, donning the same pair for a second day), “yes, that sounds excellent.”

As Poe busied himself with a pot on the stove, Hux stumbled into the refresher. The man he saw in the mirror was undeniably himself, the same General Hux who had been shot down over some back-water ice planet a month ago. But something drastic had changed since then - something he couldn’t quite name - something in the eyes, or the corners of the mouth. Of course, there were more immediate and obvious physical issues to deal with. His hair was all askew and his face and neck flushed pink with sunburn. The ghosts of freckles were beginning to reappear for the first time since he was a child. He would have to explain that away somehow - tell them the facility on Axxila had him convalesce outdoors. It was hard to imagine having to explain anything to anyone on the  _ Steadfast  _ now. He felt half awake - still caught up in the dream that had been last night - the walk along the beach, the glowing green sea, his beautiful, terrible revelation. How much easier this would all be if it was a dream - one he could wake up from and forget entirely. But not yet. He wasn’t ready to wake up yet.

He shut off the tap and returned to the rest of the house where the man he was unfortunate enough to be in love with was waiting for him.

Poe smiled as he poured a generous cup of steaming caf. It smelled nothing like the instant swill he was used to. This was rich and full, a flavor unto itself. 

“How’d you sleep?” The man asked, leaning against the countertop. 

“Well.” Hux lied. Should he tell Poe about the revelation he had had last night? No. Better not. Why invite rejection when he could simply bask in the way things were. He checked the chrono on the oven. 07:35. Far later than he would normally allow himself to sleep. Still, he had another six hours before he had to go.

“So I was thinking,” Poe said, nudging the eggs with a wooden spoon, “about the best way to pass your info to the Resistance without it getting anyone's hackles up.”

“What’s your plan?” Hux sipped the caf and couldn’t stifle the gasp at the flavor. It could be a meal - certainly felt more like food than most ‘food’ he ate in the Order.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” The other man grinned. “Someone who drinks as much caf as you do should know what the real stuff tastes like. Anyway, I figured that the best way to get your info in to Command is to leave it with a trusted informant - let them pass it on as an anonymous tip - it’ll raise a lot fewer questions, and ironically, they’ll act on it a lot faster than if I just showed up to the next meeting and told them General Hux himself gave it to me.”

“Is that really the most efficient way to pass the information along? You don’t exactly have an abundance of time to act on this.” Not for the first time he wondered how such a ridiculous group could ever have posed a genuine threat to the Order.

“You’d be surprised,” Poe said, “the Resistance is a lot more efficient than the New Republic. The next time you want to pass us info-”

“There won’t be a next time,” Hux reminded him sternly. “This was a onetime exchange of information. I am not a spy, nor do I ever plan to be one.”

“Shame,” the other man shrugged, taking the pan from the heat and expertly sliding an egg onto each plate, “you’d make a very hot spy.”

That brought a little flush to Hux’s cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.” He muttered, taking a seat at the table.

By this point he would have thought he’d be used to new and overwhelming flavors, and the egg was nowhere near the intensity of the fish last night, but he still had to fight back the initial urge to gag on the astounding presence of taste ad texture in his mouth. After this, the already bland First Order fare would taste like nothing at all. 

“This is good,” he said, looking back up at Poe. The other man was studying him, brow furrowed and serious.

“So what happens next?” He asked. “What happens when the Resistance uses this info you got us? Are you safe?”

So the sun had come up and they were done pretending the future wasn’t bearing down on them.

“Of course I’m safe.” Hux said, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure. “I’ve been careful. I’ve covered my tracks. This campaign is a fool’s errand anyway. I’d be shocked if anyone even realizes there was a leak, and if they do, there’s no possible way they’ll trace it back to me. Not in a way they can prove.”

“What happens if you’re wrong?”

“What happens if you’re wrong about the direction of a missile coming at you in a dogfight? We’re all one misstep away from death in this line of work, aren’t we?”

Poe inclined his head in grudging agreement. “So assuming you don’t die, what’s the next step for bringing down Kylo Ren and Pryde?”

“Research,” he said, “tracing back those expenses to see if I can pin the bounty hunter that killed Sloane to Pryde. With that, and all the Grand Admiral’s data, I can build a convincing case. Once I prove that Pryde is a traitor, all those loyal to the First Order will rally behind me. Kylo Ren won’t be subdued so easily, but what is one man against an army? Having the Force doesn’t make him a god. He can be killed.” 

Hux punctuated his statement with another bite of egg. When he was Supreme Leader, he told himself, he would eat proper food for every meal. They all would, down to the lowliest stormtrooper. They had the budget, it could be done. 

“And it’s strange,” he added, “but I’m beginning to think Kylo Ren is as much a pawn in this as any of us. I don’t think he cares enough to pull the strings himself, or worry about who does it for him. He didn’t know about the budget cuts to the Stormtrooper Program. He never comes to meetings. Never responds to messages. It’s always Pryde, or Griss acting for Pryde. Ren is only there when someone needs to flex physical power, to inspire fear.” Perhaps he was saying more than he should. It was one thing to feed the Resistance battle plans, it was another to give them insight into power struggles which could be used to undermine and demoralize the Order. But this wasn’t the Resistance, this was Poe. 

“You really think the Order’ll back you?”

“There are those already loyal to me within the Order. Opan, Lieutenant Mitaka, others will follow if they believe it is safe. Void knows there’s plenty of discontentment. They’re all too afraid to act on it, but it is there, boiling beneath the surface. All they need is a spark of hope - a sign that he  _ can  _ be defeated, and they will stand against him.”

“You know, all this talk of hope and standing up to power, you’re starting to sound like a rebel.” Poe grinned over his caf. 

“The First Order  _ is  _ hope,” Hux insisted, more emphatically than he meant to, “I only wish you could see it the way I do - the way Sloane did. It was founded on hope - hope for a galaxy without suffering or starvation, where no one is unwanted. No one is without use or value, no matter where one comes from.” He echoed Sloane’s words from across the years - the words that made a weak and hopeless boy believe he was wanted, that he had a purpose and a future. 

“And no one has any freedom.” Dameron cut in with a grimace.

Hux scoffed. “What is personal freedom compared to a galaxy freed from want? It’s selfish. A self-centered desire of those who have the luxury of being able to make choices in the first place. Most of our troopers came from worlds where their only choice was starvation or savagery. The New Republic had the resources to provide for every planet in the galaxy, and yet those conditions were allowed to persist until we liberated them. The First Order is the galaxy’s only hope. And I know,” he added, seeing the other man’s mouth open to retort, “I know better than anyone how wrong it’s gone, how rotten it is now. Sloane would have hated Starkiller, she would have hated Kylo Ren. It was never supposed to end up like this. But I do believe it can be fixed. It must be, there’s no other option.”

“You’re right,” Poe said, shocking Hux speechless, “I mean, your solutions are all wrong, but you are right about the New Republic. It failed in a lot of ways. I saw it first hand - how it ignored threats like the First Order because it was easier to pretend that everything was fine. It let planets slip through the cracks, let a lot of people suffer from things it could have stopped. People like Finn and Rey - and you too. You’re right to be mad. You’re right that the New Republic didn’t serve its people the way it should have. But the answer isn’t crushing the galaxy under your boot - stomping out everything that makes it worth living in. I mean, look at this place,” he gestured out the window at the sea and the nearby islands, “it’s perfect  _ because _ it’s untouched. You stick a garrison here, or mines, or even a colony, and you lose everything.” 

There was passion burning in his voice, and a spark in his dark eyes that couldn’t help but stir anyone who watched him speak. No wonder the Resistance kept getting new recruits even facing such insurmountable odds. Poe Dameron inspired hope even in the most hopeless of causes, and even when he was wrong - and Hux ardently believed he was wrong - he made one want, desperately to believe that he was right, that the galaxy really did work the way he thought it did.

Hux sighed, reality catching up to him as he broke eye contact with the other man. He didn’t want to spend his final hours here talking in circles. “I suppose that’s what we’re fighting the war to decide,” he said.

“I guess so.” 

“Speaking of,” Hux took another sip of his caf before pushing himself back from the table, “I should check in with my transport - make sure all is well for my return later today.” He considered trying Mitaka too, but it would be busy aboard the  _ Steadfast _ at this hour. The lieutenant wouldn’t be free to answer or worse, he  _ would _ answer and raise suspicion. He could try Opan, but his private channel was under so many layers of protection it would only be a hassle and waste more precious time. He would comm Opan if he heard troubling news from the ship, otherwise he would meet with both his co-conspirators upon his return.

Poe winced a little at the mention of their inevitable parting. “Right well... don’t stay and chat too long. You know, we don’t have much time left here, we might as well make the most of it.”

“I won’t be a minute.” Hux assured him with a tight smile.  _ We don’t have much time at all _ , he thought.

He stepped out onto the deck, comm in hand, and braced himself against the railing. Part of him was loath to call the ship. It was one thing to talk about his plans with Poe, to get caught up in his own fervor, describing the dream that he that was sustaining him, but the idea of returning to the _ Steadfast _ , of actually facing down the near insurmountable challenges ahead of him, all the danger and the toil and the loneliness - but he had to do it. Only he could save the First Order, and even if Poe didn’t understand, he knew his vision was worth risking everything for - not just for his sake, but for the whole galaxy.

“This is General Hux,” he said as soon as the droid answered, “report. Have you been monitoring communications from the  _ Steadfast _ as I asked?”

“Yes sir,” the tinny voice of the droid pilot replied, “no unusual communications. As for your personal messages, at eighteen hundred hours yesterday, lieutenant Mitaka sent a memo - notes from a Supreme Council meeting held in your absence, and at oh-six hundred hours this morning General Engell sent you a private message wishing you a speedy recovery.”

“How kind.” He remarked dully. Of course she did. She might have postponed her plans to call a vote on the funding for the Stormtrooper Program, but she was still trying to keep him on her side for when the time came. Still, he couldn’t muster any actual frustration with her. No unusual communications from the  _ Steadfast _ , and a memo from Mitaka mere hours before he had commed last night. It was hardly a guarantee of safety, but it felt normal. It soothed his nerves.

“Are you ready for extraction from the planet’s surface?”

“No,” Hux looked through the open transparisteel door into the house where Poe was still sitting at the table finishing his breakfast. His hair was still untidy from the night before, dark curls falling onto his forehead, catching the morning light in a halo. “No, not just yet. I will be ready and waiting at the dropoff coordinates at fourteen hundred hours. Alert me at once if any news comes in from the  _ Steadfast _ .”

“Yes sir, General Hux.”

He ended the call, and returned to the house, squashing the fear that still gnawed at the back of his mind.

“Hey,” Poe said as soon as Hux re-entered the house, “everything alright?”

“Yes. Nothing seems to have gone horribly wrong in my absence.” He came to stand straight-backed beside the table, as if talking about his return to the ship was enough for his body to begin remembering itself - the stiffness creeping back into his joints.

“And how much time do you have before you need to go?”

“My transport will collect me at fourteen-hundred hours.”

Poe glanced over at the chrono. “Not quite nine. We have some time then.” His hand found Hux’s, fingers brushing over his knuckles lightly and casually. “I have a few ideas of things we could do to make the most of it.”

“Oh really?” Hux felt a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He might not have much time left with Poe - here or at all, he might be hopelessly in love with a man who couldn’t possibly love him back, he might be on the cusp of a dangerous, even impossible task, but for just a little longer, he was determined to just let himself  _ be _ . The future could wait.

  
  


___

The Unknown Regions, 15 Years Before

  
  


The meeting chamber was far less large and grand than he had expected it to be. A massive semicircular table took up most of the space, ringed by seated generals, some of whom, like General Pryde and his father, he knew and many others whom he did not. He tried not to wonder where Grand Admiral Sloane had sat when she was here - which of the generals had usurped her seat. At the far point of the semicircle was an empty seat with a high, ornate back - more a throne than a chair.  _ That must be for the Supreme Leader himself _ , thought Hux with awe. He was relieved that the mysterious head of state was absent for his first encounter with Command, but even to share a room with his seat sent a shiver down the lieutenant’s spine. There were no viewports, but on every wall there were mounted enormous screens, displaying maps of the galaxy and the Unknown Regions. In the center of the table a holoprojector was displaying some sort of complex schematic. 

The faces of the generals around the table betrayed nothing of their intent. He reasoned that if he had done something wrong on his mission to Cirus II, it wouldn’t be High Command who punished him. They were far too important and busy to be disciplining lieutenants. Unless it was something serious. Unless somehow they knew about how he had frozen in battle, how a Resistance fighter had saved his life. That couldn’t count as treason could it? It couldn’t be a capital offence. His heart was sinking deep into the pit of his stomach, his windpipe tying itself in knots. 

“Welcome, Lieutenant Hux,” said one general, a blonde woman with a low, tight bun. “Let us cut straight to the chase, shall we? Tell me, do you know what this is?” She gestured at the plans projected above the table.

With a rush of relief, he realized he  _ did  _ know what it was. If this was a test, he was going to pass. “It appears to be a device for harvesting and containing dark energy in the form of Quintessence for use in some sort of super weapon,” he answered with confidence. “An interesting design, to be sure. I worked on a research project in the academy which theorized such a device might be possible.” But that project had never gone beyond the purely theoretical. This, though clearly still an early prototype, was like seeing his wildest imagination come to life. “A super weapon powered by Quintessence would be almost unstoppable. After all, there’s more dark energy in the universe than anything else - just waiting for us to develop the technology to harvest it.”

The woman’s thin lips stretched into a smile. “Very good, Lieutenant. As you may know, Cirus II is one of the few sources in the galaxy for syntonium crystal. You know what syntonium crystal is used for, don’t you?”

“It can absorb significant amounts of heat and energy. Its most common use is in armor plating. We use trace amounts of it in the production of our troopers’ armor.”

“Quite right. But what you might not know is that it has other potential uses. In the time of the Empire, a secret offshoot of Project Celestial Power operated out of the base on Cirus II, researching the potential for syntonium to be used in the containment of Quintessence. Unfortunately, the Empire lost its hold on Cirus II along with the rest of the galaxy. For years we’ve feared this research lost, or worse, in the hands of the New Republic, but thanks to you, Lieutenant Hux, it is back within our grasp. What do you make of it?”

“I-” he studied the plans closer - the structure of the crystal-reinforced containment unit - it was an inelegant design, a prototype - he understood its goals and its methods and yet… “All due respect, generals, but it wouldn’t work. Syntonium might be able to absorb the energy of a blaster bolt, even a direct hit from a star destroyer’s cannon if it was plas-bonded, but it couldn’t possibly contain the dark energy of Quintessence, even in trace amounts. The design itself is sound, but the only material which could in theory be used to reinforce it is pure kyber, and even then it would need a planet-sized magnetic field to hold it in place with any sort of stability.”

Whispers around the table. Hux held his breath, waiting to be told off and put in his place. At last, the general who had been addressing him smiled tightly.

“You are entirely correct, lieutenant,” she said, “just as knowledgeable as we had hoped. Lieutenant Hux, we would like to make you an offer. Since the earliest days of our existence, the First Order has been continuing the Empire’s research into the application of Quintessence for the development of superweapons. These plans you helped us recover will be of great use to those efforts, as will you, should you choose to accept. Due to your proven excellence in engineering, and your loyalty to the First Order, High Command would like to offer you a place on a top secret weapons development team where your knowledge can best serve the Order. On paper, your rank and role will not change, but you will no longer serve in the field. You will be transferred full time to the  _ Finalizer _ where the team is based. That is, if you accept.”

Hux glanced around the semicircular table at all the stern, imperious faces looking at him. This was not really an offer, he understood. It was an order. Just by being in this room, looking at these plans, he knew too much to be allowed to do anything but accept. Not that he would ever dream of turning down such an offer. One command in the field was enough for him to know he did not belong out there. On the ground, he was nothing but a man with a blaster, his progression through the ranks dependent on his success in battle, the quality of his men, the accident of luck on his or his enemy’s side. On the weapons development team, he could gain power with his wits, just as he had been doing all his life. No one would shoot at him (at least as long as he did his job well) and he would never again be in a position where his life was in the hands of an enemy. An officer in the field or at the helm of a star destroyer might have the power to destroy a few hundred, perhaps a few thousand enemies, but a man with a super weapon at his fingertips, a man who could bend dark energy to his will, he had the power to destroy worlds. He was untouchable. It was an easy choice.

“I accept,” he said with barely disguised enthusiasm, “of course I accept, and I am grateful beyond words to High Command for giving me this opportunity. I will not disappoint you.”

The generals around the table all nodded some form of approval, with the exception, he noted, of General Pryde and his father.

“Excellent choice, Lieutenant Hux. You will serve the Order well in your new position. Further instructions will be sent to you directly. I’m sure I need not remind you that this is a position of the highest secrecy. You are not to speak of this to anyone, do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.” He nodded ardently.

“Very good. Then I move to end this meeting here.”

Agreement around the table, followed by the scraping of chairs on the metal floor as the members of Command began to rise and disperse. Lieutenant Hux strutted from the room, his confidence a rod in his spine, holding his head up and his shoulders back. This was it. This was the beginning of his rise to power. Secrets were the economy of the First Order, and he had just won the lottery. 

“Typical,” his father’s voice sent a chill down his neck as the older man followed him back out into the antechamber, Opan and Cardinal rising from their seats to fall into step behind him. “After years of struggling to make you a competent soldier, teaching you to shoot, watching you struggle to do something as simple as climb out of a pit, you throw all my hard work away to become some pansy scientist. Not an ounce of real strength in you.”

The younger Hux said nothing and kept his expression neutral. He resisted the urge to remind Brendol that he had never served on the ground in the army or navy, that the closest he had ever come to active combat was cowering in a ship while the battle of Jakku raged outside. He did not need to pick a fight with his father. Time would prove his strength and cunning, whether Brendol Hux believed in him or not. Opan caught his eye and seemed to intuit at once from the lieutenant’s haughty, unfazed expression that whatever had happened in the meeting with High Command had been favorable. He returned Hux’s cool glance with just the faintest hint of a nod.

Hux returned his gaze to the corridor ahead. He well remembered clambering out of that pit under his father’s cruel gaze - the bite of the man’s boot into his fingers, the terrifying rush as he fell back to the bottom time and time again. He had never stopped climbing since, and now, he thought, he saw a spark of hope far above him - the top of the pit, the end of the climb.

____

The Outer Rim, One Month Before

Hux stared out the viewport at the swirling lights of hyperspace. All his life people had warned him that looking into that vortex for too long would drive one mad. That did not worry him now. He was beginning to suspect he was already mad. He tried to pay attention to Mitaka’s notes from the Supreme Council meeting he had missed. A large amount of the duralium from the ice planet had been sold off and the rest moved to storage. Strange. The First Order did not lack for funds, but it always needed more ships. Especially with the looming campaign into Hutt Space. Surely at least some of it should have been used in manufacturing. 

He attempted to run numbers in his head, but could not force himself to focus. He had changed back into his uniform, launching the clothes he had worn on Barison out the airlock before they entered hyperspace, and his collar dug uncomfortably into his sunburned neck. The ship was also bitterly cold compared to the balmy planet, and even in the thicker fabric of his uniform, he found himself shivering. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t concentrate, or perhaps it was the memories still reeling through his head, unprocessed. 

Before Parting ways on Barison, they had taken one last stroll along the beach, feet in the waves. Hux was ready for the chill of the water this time, and didn’t shy away. As they returned in the direction of the safe house, his heart hurt beyond aching, beyond breaking, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He had known peace for a few fleeting hours, and now it was ending and he was sure that nothing like this would ever happen again.

“I’m just saying,” Poe had said, taking Hux’s hand in his, “if you’re worried about going back to your ship - about that call on the comm last night, you don’t have to go back. Like I said, this place has an anti-aircraft gun in the roof - we could shoot your shuttle down. No one would ever know what happened to you.”

“I  _ am _ worried,” he admitted, “but that’s precisely why I have to go back. The whole First Order is in danger if Pryde and Ren have their way and this conspiracy is allowed to continue. Someone needs to put things right, and it has to be me. Besides, I put Mitaka and Opan in danger by making them complicit in this. I’m their commanding officer, can’t abandon them there in the rathtar’s nest.”

“You’re not exactly putting my mind at ease here, Hugs.” Dameron’s tone was light but there was something under it - something desperate. 

If he were being truthful, he would have no words of comfort for Poe. There was no guarantee of success or survival. It was going to be a dangerous and brutal struggle to bring down his enemies and save the First Order, and even if he succeeded, there was a very good chance that it would cost his life. But he was beginning to understand that part of loving someone was lying to them, so he forced his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and tightened his grip on Poe’s hand. 

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Even despite your best efforts to kill me. I survived Starkiller Base and the  _ Supremacy _ , both of which you had a hand in blowing up right under me, you couldn’t even kill me when you blew my escape pod out of the air on that ice planet. I survived all of that, and now that the best pilot in the Resistance _ isn’t _ trying to kill me, I’d say my chances of survival are looking better than ever.”

“The  _ Supremacy _ wasn’t me,” said Poe with a doleful smile, “but I appreciate the point.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he let the issue go. They were nearly back to the safe house now, and Hux desperately wished the beach would turn to quicksand before they made it there. 

All of a sudden, a few meters from the house, Poe stopped in his tracks, forcing Hux to an awkward halt too. The other man faced him, letting go of Hux’s hand to cup his upper arms on both sides. 

“Armitage,” he said, his voice suddenly bereft of its usual confidence, “there’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you since we got here. I guess we’re running out of time now and I wanted to tell you that I...” His voice trailed off, leaving only the thick, buzzing intention in the air.

“What is it?” Hux allowed himself to hope, to dare to believe he could imagine what Poe was going to say.

“I…” his dark eyes were fathoms deep and full of unnamable emotion, and then something snapped shut, and all the depths were hidden away. “I got us something,” he said, his tone suddenly light again, his grip on Hux’s arms dissolving into a light tap and then nothing. “It’s - I left it in the ship wait here. Just a second.”

_ Idiot _ , Hux scolded himself as the other man hurried off. He knew better than to expect Poe to say what he had hoped he would say, and yet it still stung. He still wilted where he stood.

Poe returned with a small device in his hand. “It’s a holoprojector extension for your comm,” he said, still a great deal more awkward than Hux was used to seeing him. “I got one too.You know, I’ve really enjoyed our little chats, so I figured it would be even better if we could see each other. Maybe we could even… I don’t know… spice it up.”

“Yes,” Hux forced a smile as he took the device, “thank you. I look forward to it.”

“I should head out,” Poe said, nodding back towards his X-Wing, “let you get going too.”

“Right, well…” Hux paused. He’d never been much good at goodbyes. People tended to leave his life unexpectedly, without warning. It had been so much easier last time when Poe had left him stunned on the refresher floor.

“Well…”

He longed to blurt out his feelings, lay it all bare now, before it was too late, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t bear to part with rejection. Instead he leaned forward, and pulled Poe into a parched, desperate kiss, as if his lips, his tongue, his hands could say what his brain would not allow him to speak. Poe tasted of the sea, and the rich, full flavor of the caf they had had for breakfast. He drank in every bit of sensory input - the scratch of the other man’s stubble on his cheek, the radiating warmth of his skin, the security in his embrace. He froze the memory in carbonite to keep forever, in case this was the last time they met in person. 

And then at last they parted, and Poe’s embrace lingered a moment after the kiss, his forehead still pressed against Hux’s as he said, on an almost pained breath, “Be careful.  _ Please _ .”

“I will,” Hux whispered back, “you too.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Poe insisted as he finally let go and made for the star fighter, “that’s a promise, alright?”

“Alright.”

And then he was gone.

Hux had not made heads nor tails of Mitaka’s notes by the time the transport landed in the  _ Steadfast _ ’s main hangar. No matter. He would have Mitaka explain it all in person this evening. He would need to stay up late to make up for lost time. He’d put some tarine tea on as soon as he returned to his quarters (instant caf wouldn’t taste right after what he’d had on Barison). His head would be straight by then, and he’d work through the night and return to business as usual tomorrow. 

Commander Trach was waiting for him in the hangar bay, standing at attention, almost completely alone in the large space. Hux strained to make out his expression, but at that distance it remained inscrutable. Even when the shuttle docked and Hux disembarked, the commander’s face betrayed nothing.

“General Hux,” he said, saluting stiffly, “I am glad to see you looking so well after your ordeal. Allegiant General Pryde asked me to come fetch you as soon as you arrived.”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach, taking his heart and all his guts with it. He was hollowed out and empty, echoing with his own anxiety. If Pryde wanted something from him this late, something had to be wrong. If he sent Trach, probably as a ploy to lure Hux into a false sense of security, something had to be horribly wrong.

“Did he happen to say why he needed me at this hour?” He did his best to keep his voice clipped and steady. 

“No sir.” Trach looked uneasy. 

They said nothing as they walked through the halls of the  _ Steadfast _ . Hux urged himself to say something - to make conversation, if only to stop his brain from echoing with a panicked refrain of  _ this is it this is it this is it I’m done for  _ again and again until he thought he might break down screaming. It was a long way to Pryde’s office, and Hux did not breathe until they arrived. 

The door hissed open, flooding the dimly lit hallway with light and nearly blinding Hux. Pryde was at his desk, perusing a datapad as if he had quite forgotten that he had sent for Hux.

“Ah, General,” he said, looking up as the younger man stumbled over the threshold, “take a seat, I have a matter of grave importance to discuss with you.”

Hux silently took the seat opposite the Allegiant General, trying to compose himself enough to speak. His eyes roved the room, over the sparse decoration, the biting silvers and void-dark blacks that made up the color scheme. There was a white vase on a shelf behind the desk. He focused on that as he tried to anchor himself, to steady his nerves.

“You look well,” Pryde remarked, “given the state I am told you were in when they rushed you off the ship. You handle being poisoned better than most.”

“Poisoned?” Hux repeated dumbly.  _ How could he know? _

“Didn’t they tell you in that treatment center on Axxila? You were poisoned, and by your own staff no less.” Pryde’s expression remained sanguine but there was a horrid, palpable smugness, just beneath the surface. He was one step ahead of Hux, they both knew it, and the Allegiant General was enjoying every minute of it.

“No…” it was all Hux could manage. The game was up, he was doomed. Would Pryde shoot him here? Would there be a public execution?

“I am afraid so. You should be far more careful of the company you keep. It was that shifty fellow, Opan, with the help of Lieutenant Mitaka. The latter quite surprised me too,” he said, noting the shock on Hux’s face, “he always seemed like a loyal sort - a little eager to please perhaps, but loyal. I wonder what could have led him astray…”

Pryde’s voice trailed off leaving Hux to put together something at once horrifying and comforting.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea why my own staff would do something like that?” He forced himself to remain calm. Perhaps this situation was salvageable.

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” Pryde admitted.

Hux’s heart soared. If Pryde didn’t know why Opan and Mitaka had poisoned him then he was safe. And if he could find out where they were being imprisoned, perhaps Poe could help him figure a way to help them escape.

Then Pryde’s mouth twitched up almost imperceptibly at the corners and he added, “I’m afraid the Supreme Leader dealt with the traitors himself last night before they could be interrogated. Of course, it would have been better to extract a full confession, but I trust in his judgement, as should you. You owe him your life you know. Who knows what their next plot could have been, or if it would have been more successful?”

_ No. No.  _ No, it couldn’t be. They had been careful, he had promised Mitaka that he would be rewarded for his loyalty, and  _ this  _ had been his reward. No.

“I… I have to go,” Hux managed, fighting down the swelling surge of rage and guilt and loathing that was rising in his throat. 

“Of course,” said Pryde, a sickening mockery of sympathy in his voice. “This all must be very shocking for you. Get some rest. Take tomorrow off if need be.”

“No,” he bit out, clumsily pushing back his chair, “no thank you. I’ll be on duty tomorrow.”  _ Ready and waiting to destroy you _ , he added silently, hurrying from the room, past a deeply uncomfortable-looking Commander Trach.

He was only half-conscious of his speed as he strode through the ship, deeper and deeper into its bowels. All his sense of self preservation had left him. There was only rage, howling like the winds of a great storm, deafening and all-consuming. He wasn’t sure who he hated most - Pryde, Ren, or himself. He had put his only loyal men in danger, and for what? So he could have a tryst with his rebel scum lover? So he could betray the First Order by trading away its secrets? He had become everything he hated, everything he had always stood against. But he would get his comeuppance in time. He was already halfway down the path of no return. Yes, he would be punished. But first, he would punish the rest of them. He would expose Pryde and defeat Ren and save the First Order so that Opan and Mitaka would not have been lost in vain. Then he could face the consequences himself. But even his plans for vengeance, for saving the Order, were lost in the tempest of his rage. There was only  _ now, _ there was only the howling, and the painful pounding of his heart against his ribs.

Supreme Leader Ren’s chambers were sealed off. He held his finger on the buzzer and did not let up until the door hissed open. Ren was without his mask, dressed in a simple black shirt and loose trousers.  _ Pajamas. _ It hadn’t even occurred to Hux that someone like him would wear pajamas. He almost looked shocked to see the general, but the emotion was gone in an instant, replaced by irritation and disgust.

“What do you want, Hux?” He demanded.

Hux stormed past him into the sterile white chambers, more fearless and stupid than he had ever been in his life. 

“You know what you’ve done, Ren! Opan and Mitaka - you killed them! No trial, no interrogation - you killed my men!”

“I only killed Mitaka,” Ren said, his deep voice brutally calm in contrast to Hux’s shrill fury. “Opan had a suicide pill hidden in a false tooth.”

Hux opened his mouth to revile the Supreme Leader but before he could, the Force hit him like a charging mudhorn, slamming him hard into the gleaming white wall nearest him. There was a terrible, decisive crack as his head struck metal. His vision swam in and out of focus. One minute, he could see Ren, the next he was just a blank back space in the sea of stars visible through the viewport behind him - present only in the absence of light and life. A black hole, crushing Hux with the Force. The general tried to breathe back in some of the air that had been knocked from his lungs, only to choke on the effort.

“Watch your tone, General,” Ren warned. His dark eyes gleamed with cruel intent. He could do so much worse - he wanted to - he was daring the other man to give him an excuse. “Consider carefully what you are about to say.”

But Hux couldn’t be careful. He couldn’t stop and consider. There was a fire in his stomach, burning the back of his throat. If he didn’t speak he would burn up.

“You can read minds,” he gasped through aching lungs, “that's how you caught them, isn't it? So you had to  _ know _ Opan and Mitaka were innocent. Just admit it. Just tell me the truth for once.”

Ren drew closer, studying Hux with withering detachment, as if he was a mildly interesting insect he had not yet decided if he would squash outright or suffocate in an airtight jar.

“I looked into Mitaka’s mind and you know what I saw? He was listing laundry instructions for his uniform - trying to keep his thoughts from me. That is what guilty people do, General. Or people covering for someone guilty. Luckily he couldn't defend his mind forever. It slipped, just enough during the last Supreme Council meeting. I sensed his treason, I sensed that he was working on something with Tritt Opan. I did not need to know anything else.”

“You’re a monster!” Hux bit out through clenched teeth. “You’re vile! You’re-”

And then all of a sudden the general’s voice died in his throat. Try as he might he couldn’t force a sound from his lips. Ren was drawing closer, one finger raised in a shushing motion. 

Hux’s breath hitched as he waited for a killing blow - for Ren to crush his windpipe or draw his lightsaber and behead him. But a second passed, and another, and death did not come. The Supreme Leader simply watched him, the shadow of a smirk playing on his broad mouth.

“Careful, Hux,” his voice was almost soft - almost playful. “You seem erratic, unhinged. Maybe the poison is still affecting your brain. I did not subject the traitors to interrogation, I never got the names of any co-conspirators who might have been in on this plot, but rest assured, we  _ will _ find out if they had help. It is only a matter of time.”

And then it dawned on Hux - slowly and horribly. Ren had to suspect he was involved already. Pryde must too. They were just waiting for him to make some fatal error - to reveal what exactly he was doing, and to expose any other co-conspirators in the process. They had him on the end of a string. This was a grim warning - anyone he found to trust within the Order, any friends or allies, would be eliminated. He would have to go it alone, or else doom his comrades. 

“I saved your life, killing those traitors,” the Supreme Leader almost crooned, mere inches from Hux. “It isn’t the first time I’ve had to save your useless skin. The only reason you are still breathing is because the Force tells me you still have some part to play in things to come, but rest assured, the moment your usefulness comes to an end, I will destroy you. Now go,” he added flippantly, releasing his Force grip on Hux. “Get out of my quarters.”

Hux stumbled out, gasping into the darkness of the sleep-shift lighting in the hall. Something warm and wet was dripping down his neck from the back of his head. He had to succeed. He knew that now more than ever. He had to win decisively or he would be killed. He had been climbing for so long, grasping and clambering his way through every test and every danger, towards that bright, shining glimmer of hope - safety, power, the future he and the rest of the galaxy deserved - but when he looked ahead now, at all he had to do, he saw only a long and treacherous climb. If there was a spark at the top, it was too dim, or too far off to see. 

  
  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters chapters and an epilogue left after this one!! (✖﹏✖)  
> Thank you to all of you who have read this far and left comments and kudos! It means so much!

The  _ Steadfast _ , 3 Days Before

It was strange how quickly horror and despair became routine. What had seemed an unbearable hopelessness and guilt that first night back on the  _ Steadfast  _ was manageable the next morning, and had retreated to a low but constant ache at the back of his mind by the end of the first week. He pressed on because he must, because there was nothing else to be done. The ghosts of those he’d lost, and the promise of vengeance would haunt him until either he succeeded or he died trying. All he could do was try to ensure the former happened before the latter. 

The first thing he had to do was regain control of the situation, even if it meant debasing himself. His first morning back on the  _ Steadfast,  _ he swallowed his pride and his sense of righteousness and went straight to Pryde’s office before the morning briefing. He caught the Allegiant General just as he was leaving and hailed him with a salute.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, forcing his tone to remain light and innocuous, even as his stomach turned with hatred, “do you mind if I join you?”

“As you wish, General.” Pryde nodded and allowed Hux to fall into step beside him.

“I wanted to apologize, sir, for my behavior last night. I was taken aback that two of my most trusted men would do such a thing, but it was no excuse, I was out of line. I… I owe my life to you and the Supreme Leader.”

“Indeed?” Pryde’s eyebrows arched up his high forehead in amused surprise. 

“Yes sir,” Hux pushed past the anger that was almost whiting out his vision, “with your permission, I would like to investigate the assassination attempt myself. After all, it was an attempt on my life. If Opan and Mitaka had accomplices, I should be the one to root them out.”

Pryde studied him closely, his small mouth in a tight frown. “You failed to see the signs of their betrayal until it was too late. What makes you think you would succeed in investigating it further?”

The condescension in the older man’s voice was withering, but Hux resolutely ignored it, letting his face be a mask as inscrutable as Kylo Ren’s. “Because this time, Allegiant General, I will be on the lookout for traitors.”

“Then by all means,” said Pryde, “investigate away.” 

“Thank you, sir.” He forced a tight, professional smile. 

Though he hated to drag his loyal men’s names through the mud, investigating their ‘assassination attempt’ gave him back some control over the situation. He could misdirect suspicion, perhaps find a suitable scapegoat. Pryde and Kylo Ren might still suspect him of something, but he could make it much harder for them to find proof. Eventually they would have to decide he wasn’t a threat, move on to other, more intimidating foes, and all the while he would be building his case against them, waiting to strike.

Over the next few weeks he went out of his way to spend as much time as possible in the Allegiant General’s presence. Let Pryde try to justify his suspicions when Hux was forever underfoot, offering him a hot beverage before every meeting, standing right behind him on the bridge, first to arrive and last to leave at every briefing. He was careful never to act out of character - to always keep a little sullenness in his expression, a tightness in his voice, but he allowed Pryde and everyone else to get the impression that he was finally broken. He had submitted to the new power structure, and all he wanted to do was ingratiate his way into the Allegiant General’s favor. 

He even went so far as to let the occasional simple mistake slip into his work - an important detail glossed over in a report, or a miscalculation of current weapons spending - and apologized profusely when Pryde chastised him for his perceived stupidity. Sloane had advised him once to let people underestimate him, and Pryde had underestimated him his whole life. Though it stung to feel Pryde look at him and see only Brendol Hux’s bastard son - the same weak-willed boy he had once watched cry in a mess of broken glass on the floor - it served him well. That weak-willed boy could be a cloying, obsequious nuisance, but he could never uncover conspiracies, could never scheme and plot and spy against the Order. As time wore on, Hux suspected his strategy was working. Pryde was too clever to write Hux off completely, but with every condescending comment, every roll of his steely blue eyes, he could sense the older man moving him further down his list of suspects. 

The proximity also allowed him to study the Allegiant General more closely, not that it was of much use. The man had the rigidly controlled face of a professional sabacc player. He betrayed his emotions only when he chose to, usually to express distaste for whatever Hux was doing. Still, he noted, there was a strange electricity to Pryde these days, an intensity which charged the air around him, that Hux was sure had not always been there. His icy glare was sharper, his stride quicker, as if he was forever walking toward something beyond wherever he was going, something great and terrible and enticing that no one else could yet see. 

But it wasn’t easy to dedicate so much of his time simply to being seen, especially not while his own secret work was ongoing. He had requisitioned all the Order’s financial records from the last twenty years under the pretext of looking deeper into the cut Stormtrooper Program budget for general Engell. If she was going to call a vote, he told her, it would be better to have a historical precedent. After days spent playing the cloying sycophant for Allegiant General Pryde, he spent his nights sleepless, pouring over records on his computer, building his case against his enemies. 

Pinpointing the suspicious withdrawal should have been simple. He’d thought it was when he foolishly believed that the First Order’s finances had always been kept the same way they were now. The further back he went in the Order’s financial history, the more messy and convoluted the records became. The First Order of twenty years ago was not the efficient body he had shaped it into. It was chaotic, only loosely centralized. Embezzlement was rampant, he learned, in those early days, and every ship seemed to have their own idiosyncratic form of bookkeeping and by the time it made its way into official record, it was like trying to listen to a dozen voices all speaking different languages at once. He was forced to comb through the mess, re-formatting everything into a standardized spreadsheet. It was the sort of busy work an aide or a droid ought to do, but he could hardly risk involving anyone else in his treason. This was his tedious burden to bear, and so he pressed on meticulously, searching and cataloguing for nights on end. Still, there were no notable withdrawals of the size that would indicate a bounty hunter’s upfront cost. It had to be there, otherwise his evidence would not be enough to convict the Allegiant General, and he would almost certainly be labelled a traitor and killed. 

And all that was to say nothing of the campaign into Hutt Space which was ramping up - reports piling up in his inbox. Initial negotiations with the Hutts had been exactly as pointless as expected, and the Resistance had ambushed the diplomatic party’s ship on its way back, costing the lives of several TIE pilots who were part of the escort. Hux couldn’t help but wonder if Poe had a hand in it. He didn’t ask when they talked; he felt better not knowing. 

They had spoken almost every night since Barison, usually in the wee hours of the sleep shift while Hux poured over financial records. If it wasn’t for their conversations, he wouldn’t have been able to mark the time. The stress and the sleeplessness and the stims he took to cope made the days blend together like static between empty comm channels, moving from one to the next with nothing but noise and numbness. 

The holoprojector extension proved a blessing and a curse. Seeing Poe’s face alongside hearing his voice was a balm to his spirits at the end of every long day. He was grateful for every smile and every easy, absentminded gesture, even for the way his brow creased when he was concerned or vexed. The sight of Poe Dameron was a finite resource, and he was never quite sure how much he had left. One day, if he lived long enough, he would wait for a call and it would never come - one of his TIE pilots would earn a promotion and he would be left with nothing but the memories, and the few messages that had been recorded when he missed the other man’s calls. He had to enjoy every moment while it lasted. The downside was, of course, that Poe could also see him. Even after a lifetime of training himself to hide his emotions from his face, he couldn’t keep it up forever, and Dameron had an infuriating habit of seeing through him. 

The first time they had spoken after his return from Barison, Poe cut instantly through Hux’s hollow smile and attempt at small talk.

“Are you okay?” He asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “You look rough.”

He didn’t take the comment on his appearance personally. It was probably true. 

He gazed past his computer, to the spot beside his sofa where the black standard issue cane rested against the wall. He had returned from his violent encounter with Kylo Ren to find a trooper waiting at his door, bearing the cane along with his datapad. Commander Trach had ordered them brought from the transport where Hux had forgotten them in the tension of that awful night. Trach was no doubt trying to make up for delivering him into Pryde’s clutches by attempting to do him a favor. The datapad was nothing. He knew better than to keep secrets on something so easily lost or stolen, but the cane… what had been a meaningless object twenty-four hours ago was now a precious artifact of a better time.

Inside his quarters, Hux had all but collapsed onto the sofa. He ran his fingers over the black plastic of the cane. It was still dusted with the residue of sand from the beach on Barison. A lifetime had passed since he had walked that beach with Poe, even longer since Lieutenant Mitaka had packed it for him. It was just the sort of thing Mitaka would think of - something Hux would never have thought to ask for but ended up relying on. He didn’t regret going to Barison. He couldn’t. It was necessary that he exchange information with Poe. Still, he couldn’t quite force himself to compartmentalize his guilt the way he had with so many other deaths he had caused. It gnawed at him and refused to be turned into determination. He  _ would _ avenge them - make sure their deaths were not in vain - but something told him that wouldn’t stop the guilt. Not entirely. And if this guilt could escape the dam he’d so carefully constructed around his conscience, the rest could follow - all the guilt from all the other deaths that he had caused before, could come crashing down and drown him at any moment. 

He hadn’t slept a wink that night.

Hux sighed, resigning himself to tell the truth. He didn’t think Poe could really care, after all, Hux’s men were still his enemies. What could the loss of two unknown foes mean to him? “They’re dead. Opan and Lieutenant Mitaka. Killed by Kylo Ren.”

“Kriff, Armitage, are you safe? Are they onto you?” 

There was worry in his voice, and Hux could hardly stand it. Realizing he loved Poe only made him hate his concern more. It would be so much easier if the other man kept him at arm's length - brushed him off, used him blatantly - anything but this terrible kindness that made his heart ache for what he could never have.

“Yes, I’m safe,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “for the time being at least. If there’s one small blessing it’s that the oaf killed them before Pryde could get them into interrogation. It's been written off as an attempt on my life, one I’ve convinced them to let me investigate, but I have reason to believe they still suspect me of something. All the more reason to bring them down sooner rather than later.”

“I’m sorry about your men,” said Poe, ignoring Hux’s attempt to brush him off. “I know what it's like to lose the people under your command. Void knows I’ve lost plenty.”

“I’ve sent more troopers than I can count to their deaths,” he said, his exhaustion eroding his defenses, “I took no pleasure in it, but I could make my peace with it. Death is an inevitable part of war. But this… they weren’t killed in battle with the enemy. Opan and Mitaka were murdered by traitors within their own side. While I was off... playing house with you on Barison. Of course we had to meet to exchange information, but I should’ve told them more of the truth - I should’ve come back at once, I-” but the rest of the sentence wouldn’t come. His hands were clenched and shaking on his desk. He hated himself for letting them die and hated himself more for failing to banish his guilt. Where was the General Hux of Starkiller? Where was the ruthlessly practical man the galaxy needed now more than ever?

“Hey,” Poe said, reaching out as if instinctually trying to touch Hux. “You can’t let yourself get dragged down by thoughts like that. That’s how they win. They take your friends, and they make it feel like it was your fault - like if you’d just been a little smarter, a little faster, or better yet if you just shut up and bowed down maybe it wouldn’t be like this - they want to make you feel responsible for their crimes. But you can’t let them. You just have to fight back even harder.”

Hux felt himself implicated in every  _ ‘they’ _ that Poe spat out and wondered, despite himself, how many friends the other man had lost as a direct result of his orders - how many more would have to die before the Resistance was subdued. It wasn’t regret he was feeling or guilt. No, that was just the nature of war. But it was a strange thing, to feel at once part of both  _ us  _ and  _ them _ . 

“Of course I’ll fight back harder.” He said, sweaty hands now balled into fists, holding tight to the memory of who he was supposed to be. His voice was steadier when he spoke again, cooler. “Ren will pay for this. I’ll see that he does.”

“Good,” said Poe, nodding solemnly, “that’s good. But just remember, you don’t have to fight back from  _ inside _ the Order. That info you passed is good stuff, it’ll hand us a victory we really need, the Resistance will repay for that, we can get you out.”

“Out of the First Order and right into prison for war crimes,” Hux said dryly. It felt as if they’d had this conversation a hundred times. Poe would all but plead for him to defect, he would rebuff him, and they would drop the subject, just a little more weary than they were before. “They still execute war criminals, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t let that happen to you,” Poe insisted, dark eyes burning even in holographic form. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Hux, “besides, Opan and Mitaka didn’t die for me to betray everything they spent their whole lives serving. I’m not doing this for the Resistance. I’m doing it to save the First Order, and I’m so close. All I have to do is find one incriminating withdrawal and I can expose Pryde for the traitor he is.” 

“And then what?” There was a hard edge to Poe’s voice now. “What happens when you beat Pryde, when you kill Kylo Ren? What happens to us?”

_ Us _ . Hux would have to rip his own heart out to rid himself of the pain that word caused him, the longing. Even if Poe Dameron weren’t a dangerous rebel, he couldn’t tolerate these feelings. A Supreme Leader shouldn’t love anyone the way Hux loved Poe. It was a selfish, wicked thing, forever tempting him to choose his own happiness over the welfare of the galaxy.  _ Us _ was just another Resistance he would have to crush. But not yet. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” Poe said, the edges of his tone softening again, “look, whatever happens down the line, I’m glad we’ve got right now. I…” his voice trailed off and Hux looked up to meet his eyes. Even a galaxy apart, through the distorting grain of the holoprojectior, Hux saw that same bottomless warmth in his eyes that he had momentarily glimpsed on Barison. The silence felt fraught with unspoken words, but Hux didn’t dare believe he knew what those words were. “I just wish it didn’t have to be so kriffing messy.” The other man finished his sentence at last, rubbing his exhausted face with a hand.

“So do I.” 

They talked little of the future over the course of the next three weeks. For the most part, topics of conversation were light or mundane. Poe regaled him with the story of how BB-8 had nearly gotten him shot on Varl when he lost his temper at a hutt lord’s outdated protocol droid. Hux was shocked he kept the little astromech around if it was so troublesome, but the story made him genuinely laugh for the first time in weeks. For his part he mostly found himself complaining about the thankless investigation he was doing into the Order’s finances, the condescending way Pryde treated him, even and especially in front of their colleagues, the slashed funding for the Stormtrooper Program which General Engell was still itching to call a vote on. It was an easy rhythm - painfully easy - and soon heartache, like fear and despair, settled into routine. 

Almost a month after Barison, at the end of an especially grueling week of bad news from Hutt Space and bad luck in his investigation, Hux sat, hunched over his desk, mug of caf in hand, trying and failing to split his attention between Poe and his spreadsheets.

“How’s it going?” The other man asked. He appeared to be propped up in his bunk, shirtless, hair pushed back and dripping wet from a shower. 

It was unfair, Hux thought, to tempt him like this with such an enticing image when he couldn’t touch him - couldn’t even take a break from work to really enjoy the sight.

“I’m close,” he grumbled, “I can feel it. I’ve narrowed down my search to withdrawals made within the year leading up to Sloane’s murder. There ought to be something here, some large withdrawal - but there’s nothing that would match. If this turns out to be a dead end after all this time, I swear…”

Poe sat up a little straighter, scratching his freshly shaven cheek absentmindedly. “How much was the going rate for a bounty hunter’s upfront payment back then?”

“It wouldn’t be guild prices,” Hux explained, wondering why Poe was wasting his time with such questions. Maybe it was just an attempt to seem interested in Hux’s work, to make conversation and keep them both awake. “And Sloane would have been a high-profile target. It would have been at least ten thousand credits upfront, probably closer to fifty.”

The other man let out a low whistle. “Hard to miss that kind of money just disappearing.”

“Thank you Dameron, yes. That’s the point.” His exhaustion cut his tone sharp with annoyance. 

“No, no, I know,” said Poe, “but listen. I’ve never hired a bounty hunter, but I know a thing or two about flying under the radar. If I was trying to secretly withdraw that kind of money, I wouldn’t do it all at once. I’d take a little here, a little there - never enough to raise eyebrows. Maybe you shouldn’t be looking for one big withdrawal-”

“-but several smaller ones all made by the same party, Poe, you scoundrel, you’re a genius!” Hux exclaimed, sitting up straighter at his desk and rubbing his eyes to get a fresh look at his screen. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’ve been working too hard,” Poe insisted, “your brain’s probably fried. You need a fresh perspective - a rebel’s perspective.”

“Poe, that’s just it, I could kiss you!” His head was spinning from the whiplash of going from dull despair to sudden discovery.

“I wish you could.” Poe smiled ruefully. “I guess you owe me - next time we see each other.” 

“Of course,” said Hux, “I promise.” Even as he spoke, he wasn’t sure it was a promise he could keep. It seemed unlikely that there would be a next time. No matter how this business with Pryde unfolded, this affair would have to come to an end soon. 

As the thrill of realization faded, exhaustion crept back in. He would have to sift back through everything again, looking for a series of smaller withdrawals. 

“Stars, I’m exhausted.” He murmured.

“You look exhausted. You should rest. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” but even as he spoke, his head felt heavy on his shoulders, “I have to review all these withdrawals.”

“Do it tomorrow, Armitage. You’re not gonna be any good half-asleep.”

Poe was right, of course. He had no business being right, and certainly no business being so good for Hux. 

“Fine.” He muttered. “Goodnight, I-” he caught himself just before those traitor words could slip past his lips. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t risk spoiling what little time they had left together with sentiments Poe couldn’t possibly return. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” He settled for another, easier truth.

It was only thanks to his extreme fatigue that Hux was able to sleep that night. Poe’s suggestion had set his mind working at hyperspeed, planning and re-planning his next steps. He would find Pryde’s fingerprints on this somehow, no matter how the man had tried to cover it up. True, it would take combing back through the long list of withdrawals, but at least he had them all catalogued now - it would be a far quicker process than his first round of searching. He could do it in a night, then all that would remain would be to slice the system and prove that the withdrawals had been made on Pryde’s account. His case would be complete. He could prove that Pryde was a traitor and a murderer. He was so close.

Making it through the next day was agonizing - standing on the bridge with Allegiant General Pryde, sitting through briefings with the commanders in Hutt Space - it all dragged on endlessly. And all the while he had to maintain fierce control over his mind. He didn’t dare dwell on his plot or on Poe. Letting his guard down and exposing his thoughts, even for a moment, could be deadly. All it had taken for Lieutenant Mitaka to be caught was a stray thought during a Supreme Council meeting. One Kylo Ren had not even attended in person. There was no room for error. Not now. 

By the time he found himself at the long meeting table of the Supreme Council that afternoon, staying focused was an almost insurmountable task, even with the serious matter at hand. More defeats in Hutt Space, mounting casualties and costs, growing suspicions that the Resistance had some kind of source within the Order.

“There must be a leak somewhere in the chain of command,” General Parnadee insisted. Her nephew had been among the casualties of the last skirmish which saw the destruction of the  _ Fellfire _ . Hux added his death to the long list of those he was responsible for. “It is the only explanation for how the Resistance has managed to best us so many times.”

“All due respect,” said General Quinn, “but an invasion of Hutt Space was always a risky operation, as I have been saying from the very beginning.” He was wasting no time in throwing around I-told-you-so’s. A foolish move, Hux thought, one which brought undue suspicion on himself. “We ought to pull out now,” he went on, “before this fool’s errand costs us more than it already has.”

“No,” Parnadee insisted, then reigned herself in and continued in a calmer tone, “no. We’ve sacrificed too much already to pull out. And imagine how it will look if we let the Resistance win here? How many more potential rebels it will embolden? It would be disastrous.”

“I agree with General Parnadee,” Engell joined in. “We must not show weakness by retreating now.” There could be no vote on the Stormtrooper Program budget if she was on the wrong side of a humiliating defeat. She had no choice but to support staying the course. 

“But consider how much more devastating it would be for us if the Resistance triumphed after a drawn out conflict, after depleting so many more of our resources,” Quinn argued, “surely it’s better to retreat, regroup, change our codes and find the leak if there is one  _ before _ we go on fighting.”

Hux held his tongue while he watched the other generals squabble. Quinn was right, of course, but it was paramount that he maintain his alliance with Engell and Parnadee, at least while he used the slashed Stormtrooper Program budget as a cover for his investigation into Pryde. Still, he had to say something soon or else he would seem uncharacteristically quiet. 

“We stay the course.” Everyone at the table turned, dumbstruck, to the Allegiant General. Since the first inception of the campaign into Hutt Space, Pryde had been openly dismissive of the whole endeavor. Even now, his expression was dispassionate, cold eyes surveying the council with barely disguised impatience, as if, like Hux, he were only waiting for the meeting to end. “It is the Supreme Leader’s wish, and mine, to subjugate Hutt Space completely.”

“What of the leak, sir?” Quinn pressed, rash in his caution. “Shouldn’t we root out any potential spies first?”

“Oh, we will certainly find our spy,” Pryde nodded. “General Hux-” 

At the sound of his name, Hux nearly jumped out of his seat.  _ Was this it? Had he known all along? _ “Yes sir?”

“Contact the head of the FOSB, have a taskforce set to investigate the leak. In the meantime, we will change our codes, see if our spy can be drawn out in order to leak the new ones to the Resistance.”

“Yes sir, Allegiant General.” 

Hux barely suppressed a smirk. He had good rapport with the security bureau. They would never investigate him as a suspect, not without overwhelming reason. Pryde knew this. If he considered Hux a serious risk, he wouldn’t trust the FOSB, and certainly wouldn’t trust Hux to arrange the task force. Of course there was always the possibility that this was a trick to get him to lower his guard, to lull him into a false sense of security so that he might make some clumsy mistake. But it wouldn’t work. After all, he wasn’t a spy. He was never going to pass information to the Resistance again, changed codes or not, and so there would be no pattern to uncover, no second opportunity to catch him in the act. 

“A longer offensive will require more men,” Parnadee said, almost gleefully.

“Indeed,” Pryde agreed, “send for reinforcements from neighboring sectors as you see fit, general.”

Parnadee looked like a child in a sweetshop who had just been told she could buy anything she wanted. 

Engell too looked pleased, meeting Hux’s eye as she asked the Allegiant General “Does this mean, sir, that we can revisit the-”

But before she could finish her question, the door to the meeting chamber hissed open and an ashen-faced officer appeared at the threshold.

“Pardon the interruption,” she panted, saluting stiffly, “but I have orders from Supreme Leader Ren himself. Allegiant General Pryde, sir, you and General Hux are to join the Supreme Leader on the bridge at once.”

Several expressions flitted across Pryde’s face in quick succession, almost too fast for Hux to read. Surprise came first - eyebrows arching up above widened blue eyes - then recognition and then something he could only compare to the expression a snake might make, when the prey it had just swallowed alive finally stopped struggling in its belly. 

Hux studied the Allegiant General carefully as they strode side by side down the halls of the  _ Steadfast _ . He had no idea what he might be walking into. It had been almost a month since he had last seen the Supreme Leader aside from in passing, and that last encounter had been anything but pleasant. If Ren wanted to punish him for something, he wouldn’t interrupt a Council meeting to do it. Or perhaps he would - the man had all the manners of a wookie. No. If he was going to disrupt a meeting to do something to Hux, he’d do it himself - take out his lightsaber and gut the general in front of the whole Supreme Council. More likely this had nothing to do with Hux specifically. It was easy to forget these days, but after Kylo Ren and General Pryde, he was still the most powerful man in the First Order. Anything important should require his presence, but of course that begged the question: what was so important that it required his presence?

Reaching the bridge and Kylo Ren only raised more questions. Ren was waiting, glowering over the crewpit, standing above a terrified navigation officer. The Supreme Leader looked as high-strung and anxious as Pryde did calm and expectant. Even masked he radiated violent confusion. The air was so charged with it it was hard to breathe.

“Took you long enough,” he snapped at his generals. “We’ve changed course for Mustafar. We will arrive within the day.”

“Mustafar?” Hux repeated, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. “That’s half the galaxy away.”

Ren did not so much as acknowledge him. “We received a transmission,” he went on, “the origin point was deep in the Unknown Regions, beyond the scope of our maps, and I feel a call in the Force - a signpost - the only way to its source will be found on Mustafar. What are you waiting for?” He barked at the nearest comms officer. “Replay the transmission!” 

The shaking officer pressed a button on his console, and the bridge was suddenly filled with a low, croaking voice which replaced Hux’s blood with ice water - at once strangely familiar and horrifyingly alien.

“At last the work of generations is complete. The great error is corrected. The day of victory is at hand. The day of revenge. The day of the Sith.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just two chapters (and an epilogue) from the end of the story! I know I say this every chapter, but thank you all so much for reading along with me while I rake you over the emotional coals!  
> I also wanted to mention that basically all the dialogue in the flashback at the beginning is from Aftermath: Empire's End. I know this is already fanfiction, but I don't usually use so much at once from the source material, so I felt like it needed an extra mention.

Jakku, 30 Years Before

Armitage wondered if he would be able to see his death coming. There were no viewports on their transport, probably to keep him and the other children from seeing the carnage outside. But he could hear it - they were in low enough orbit that the thunder of battle carried through the atmosphere, reverberating through the little ship. Periodically there would be a louder bang, an explosion, a crash as something hit the ground below. It seemed inevitable that one of those blasts would find this ship and kill them all. He wouldn’t see the blast. Would he have time to see the explosion if they blew up? Would it hurt, or would it be over so quickly he wouldn’t know what had happened? Armitage wasn’t sure if it was better that way, or if he’d rather have time to prepare.

He wondered if his father had sent him here to die. But he knew Brendol wouldn’t waste the lives of his child soldiers after he’d spent so long training them. The fact that they were with him must mean Armitage wasn’t here just to be killed, not that that guaranteed anything. This was chaos. Anyone and everyone could die in a moment. 

The other children were no comfort either. They were feral, savage creatures with sullen, hungry eyes that watched him closely from across the ship. He tried to keep his dignity - to stop himself shaking, to anchor himself by clutching the edge of the metal bench so tightly his knuckles turned white. Tears were threatening to break free from his eyes, but he didn’t dare let them. If the children knew how frightened he really was, whatever tenuous power dynamic was keeping him safe would vanish. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from nearly jumping out of his seat when the doors hissed open.

He recognized the man who walked through the door at once - it was Counselor Rax. He had only ever seen the man at a distance or in holos, but everyone on the  _ Ravager  _ talked about him like he was some kind of hero, the man who was going to revive the dying Empire. Even his father seemed to like Rax, coming home giddy and almost manic after meetings with him. He was a handsome man, Armitage supposed, tall and perpetually poised, his black eyes bright and cold as space itself, but there was something off about him - a crackling instability that filled the air whenever he entered a room. 

“Hello Armitage,” Rax said, coming to stand directly before the small boy, hands clasped behind his back, head cocked with keen interest.

“Sir,” Armitage managed, his voice little more than a whisper. “Hello.”

“Has your father explained to you what’s happening?”

“No sir.” The last time he had seen his father, the man had been running off to see the Counselor speak. Since then he had been shuffled around by droids and junior officers, each more frantic and terrified-looking than the last.

Rax hummed and nodded knowingly. “Brendol does not much like you, I suspect,” he said.

Armitage swallowed hard, still fighting his losing battle against his tears. It was one thing to know his father hated him. It was another to hear it from somebody else, to be reminded how utterly alone he was just when he most needed someone to tell him it was going to be alright. 

“I suspect that is correct, sir.” He said.

Counselor Rax’s lips twisted up in the corners in something which wasn’t quite a smile. “Listen to you,” he said, “the pinnacle of a private education. Such a crisp evocation of words for such a young lad. Even in fear you speak clearly and plainly. Well done, Armitage.” 

Armitage wasn’t sure if Rax was making fun of him. He drew back into himself instinctively as the man knelt down before him, making their faces level.

“I was not initially so fortunate as you. I was born here on Jakku. This horrible world. Those born here are already dead, or so I once thought. But I was reborn. I was brought into the Empire by our late Emperor and made anew. I was turned from the little sand-scoured Jakku savage into something considerably more civilized. I was like you in one way, though: I, too, was scared.”

With their faces so close, Armitage could feel the heat coming off the man’s hatred as he spoke of Jakku. It was terrifying, but there was an openness in his tone that made Armitage believe Rax was telling the truth - that he saw the fear in the boy’s eyes and empathized. 

If his father were here, he would insist he was not frightened, that he was brave and ready to die for his Empire, but his father wasn’t here, and something in Rax’s honesty coaxed the truth out of him too.

“I am scared, sir.” He admitted, mouth twisting as he fought even harder against the urge to cry.

“Yes,” the Counselor hissed, nodding encouragingly at Armitage. “That is wise. Fear is useful when it guides us—but it becomes dangerous when it governs us. I am here to tell you what is going to happen. We are taking this ship to a location where a second ship awaits. You and these other children will be taken far away. Your father will come, as will I. We will meet others at our destination. Together we will begin something new. We will leave all of this behind. Do you understand?”

So they were not going to win the day on Jakku, or at least, they weren’t going to wait around to find out. They were retreating, going even further away from everything right and normal. Whatever this ‘something new’ was, it wouldn’t be anything like his life before. That prospect frightened him almost as much as dying. Still, he felt compelled to answer Rax, and to do so honestly.

“No sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Not truly.”

A low hiss of a laugh from Rax. “That’s fine, Armitage. It will all become clear one day. For now, I leave you with a gift.”

“What’s that sir?” Strange as the man’s tone was as he said that, it was rare for an adult to pay Armitage so much mind, let alone offer him gifts. It made him feel special, important, made him forget the clangor of war outside. Whatever it was, even if it was a mixed blessing, he would accept it gratefully and dutifully. 

He nodded across the transport to the two dozen child soldiers still watching him with hollow, hostile eyes. “These other children? They stare at you, don’t they?”

Armitage swallowed. “Y-yes sir.” It wasn’t just tears pushing to get out now. He hadn’t been allowed out of the cargo hold to use the refresher all morning, and the terror twisting in his gut put dangerous pressure on his bladder. Wetting himself with fear would certainly seal his fate and poison Rax against him.

Rax’s lips twisted again into that sinister mockery of a smile. “They want to kill you, I fear. They want to slash you with their fingernails. They want to bite you until you are just unrecognizable pieces. They would, if given half a chance, beat you with common rocks until all your limbs were broken sticks. Just as I was once a savage of Jakku, so too are these children savage in the same way. Your father’s work has only heightened that impulse. He has sharpened them the way you do a knife.”

Armitage wondered if this had all been a horrible trick. Perhaps this was another test for the child soldiers, thought up by his father and the counselor - Rax would give the word and they would all descend on him. Telling him there was a gift, a future, making him feel special was just a cruel joke the Counselor was playing on him before ordering his death. Fear threatened to overwhelm all his senses, to wrest control of his tears and his bladder from him. He could do nothing but stammer and fold himself smaller on the bench.

Rax was still smiling. “The gift,” he said. “You want to know about the gift. Here it is, Armitage: You will lead these children. They will serve you. And one day soon your father will pass down his teachings to you, and you will learn to do what he did. It will be your life’s work to take children like these savages and hammer their malleable minds into whatever shape you so require. They will be tools built for the work at hand. That is my gift to you, boy. One day your father will die. One day soon, I fear. And you will take his place.”

Armitage’s breath caught in his throat. There was a promise in the way he said that Brendol would die ‘one day soon’ that both thrilled and frightened the boy. And then there was the power the Counselor was offering him. He had never had power before, never had command even over himself. He wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it.

Rax stood, turning to the child soldiers. “Listen to me closely,” he commanded, “this boy, Armitage Hux, commands you. You will do as he decides. You will give your lives for him if you must.”

They nodded that they understood the order, but none of their hostility seemed to dissipate.

“Thank you,” he managed, looking up at Rax, still half-convinced this was a trap.

“It is my pleasure. The future of the Empire needs you. Now sit tight. We’re almost at the Observatory. Our destiny isn’t long now.” 

And then he was gone, leaving Armitage alone with the child soldiers.  _ His  _ child soldiers. He slid off the bench and walked closer to them, hands clasped behind his back. He wanted to test this power - to see if these children really would obey him as Counselor Rax had commanded. But what would he order them to do? He had never had to make such a decision before. Of course he knew what power was - what it looked like - what it could do. Power was safety. It was respect. People with power didn’t get slapped around. It wasn’t allowed. He also knew how power was demonstrated. His father had shown him plenty of times. Power was the ability to inflict pain on those with less. He didn’t relish the idea of hurting others. It didn’t sit right with him, but he did like the idea of not being hurt himself. He didn’t pretend that having command of these children would mean the immediate end of his father’s abuse, but if Rax was telling the truth, that too was temporary. One day his father would die. One day he would be the one with real power. 

“You,” he said to a dark-haired boy he would come to know as Archex. “Do you agree to do as I say?”

Archex nodded silently.

Armitage swallowed the guilt that rose in his throat, trying to find his footing beneath the sudden weight of this responsibility, “I want you to hit the boy to the right of you,” he said, his voice alien to him in its firmness and coldness. He narrowed his eyes, feeling suddenly steady on his feet. “Hard.”

The other boy turned and punched his neighbor in the face with all the force he could muster. The victim cried out, clutching at his now bleeding cheek. 

Armitage stood back and stared. He had done that. Not with his own weak fists, but with his words. Part of him recoiled from that realisation, but that part was swiftly drowned out as a wave of calm washed over him. He felt strong and safe. Even the noise of the battle outside faded to a dull background hum. For the first time since all this chaos began, Armitage found something he could anchor himself to - power, and the pursuit of more of it.

___

Mustafar, 2 Days Before 

The climate on Mustafar made Barison seem tepid in retrospect. The heat was crushing, pressing in on him from all sides, forcing its way into his mouth and nose, spreading through every part of him like a cancer. The trees were gnarled, skeletal things, reaching bare grey branches through the mist, bony hands beckoning deeper into the fen. No answers found on this wretched world could be anything but bad. Whatever had called them here, whatever had spoken out from deep within the Unknown Regions, must be a powerful evil indeed. Even Kylo Ren seemed shaken to his core. 

Ren cut through bodies like they were nothing but paper, hacking his way through the swarm of attacking colonists. The squad of troopers accompanying him barely had time to line up their shots before the Supreme Leader obliterated their targets. What kind of monster could frighten a powerful, deadly beast like Kylo Ren? What were they getting themselves into? He wanted to be irritated, wanted to grumble at how they’d travelled half the galaxy to get here, but all he could feel was a gnawing terror, a sense that something hulking and abominable was looming over him, waiting to strike the moment he looked directly at it, thought too hard about what this all meant.

“He’s almost beautiful to watch,” Pryde mused, his eyes trained on Ren’s gory progress through the trees. He had been almost preternaturally serene since they first heard that transmission on the bridge of the  _ Steadfast _ . Even the heat couldn’t touch him now. There was no sweat on his high forehead, not even a flush to his cheeks.

Hux couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how. He could think of a billion adjectives to describe Kylo Ren, but  _ beautiful _ was not one of them. Or if he was beautiful, it was like the storm on the ice planet, the red glow of Starkiller firing, the great, bright explosion of its destruction. It was a terrible beauty, the sort he’d spent his life trying and failing to control. 

He watched the Supreme Leader slash the final attacker almost in two and finally stop in the middle of his desolation. For a long moment, Kylo Ren stood still, looking around the wasteland like a child lost. He always seemed his most human after killing, as if the bloodlust had drained whatever darkness filled his mind, and for just a moment he saw clearly and what he saw horrified him. Hux had always thought it was weakness that shone through in those moments. He never had such regrets after killing. He was always just the same before and after. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps it was those frantic, regretful moments when Ren was at his strongest - though never quite strong enough to stop himself from killing again. The moment passed, and the Supreme Leader set off again, leaving the squad of troopers behind as he vanished into the mist.

“He’s gone mad,” breathed Hux, more a prayer than a statement of fact. “Flames of rebellion burn across the galaxy, and Ren chases a ghost.”  _ Please let it be a ghost _ .

“No,” the Allegiant General said, watching the swirling mist with keen interest, “someone was behind that transmission. And Leader Ren will answer to no one.” His voice was quiet, but his tone firm, sure, and horribly eager.

Hux swallowed hard. “You know who that  _ someone  _ is, don’t you? You’ve known for a long time.” It wasn’t really a question. It was all beginning to come together - the mysterious orders from the Unknown Regions, the decisions made behind the Supreme Leader’s back, Pryde’s unprecedented influence. If everything was as he was beginning to suspect, he, the Order, and the entire galaxy were in grave danger.

“Those of us who were truly loyal to the Emperor have known for decades.” Pryde’s voice was cool, without the mask of civility he usually wore when they spoke. Something dark and fanatical was bubbling just beneath the surface of his tone. 

“So it is him,” Hux muttered, “just as Ren sensed, it really is Palpatine.” 

He recalled the images he had seen as a child, of the kindly looking old emperor. He looked like he could be somebody’s grandfather. Hux remembered hearing that the Emperor had died and wondering what kind of awful people could kill such a nice old man, who only wanted to lead the galaxy right. That voice on the transmission did not sound like the voice he had heard in official propaganda holos, it didn’t sound like it could come from the same kindly old man - a man who must be more than a hundred years old if he lived, which he couldn’t have. He had been blown to stardust with the rest of the second Death Star. That voice was a horrid croak - the scrape of bone against bone - the rumble just before a groundquake. If it was indeed Palpatine, the Emperor had become something truly monstrous. If it was Palpatine, and he had been the one sending orders from deep within the Unknown Regions all these years, then everything Hux thought he knew was a lie, and everything he had dedicated his life to - committed atrocity after atrocity for - was nothing but a flimsy sham set up by powers who had been scheming since before he was born. And what then? What could he possibly do then?

“Yes.” Pryde said simply.

“And Ren? Did he know all this time?” The Supreme Leader must have had inklings - he had been talking of great changes on the horizon for months now, but he couldn’t have known everything. His reaction to the transmission was too shocked, too vulnerable to be faked.

“It was imperative that he learn the truth only when he proved himself ready,” Pryde said softly.

“Ready for what?” Even in this strange place, with the veil lifted between them, Hux knew he was treading dangerous waters by continuing to ask the Allegiant General questions. This trance could end at any minute, and the truce with it.

“The future.” Pryde answered, blue eyes catching the red glow of the smog-shrouded sun. “The Final Order.”

It was not long before Hux learned the shape of this future - this Final Order - Pryde had waited so many years to usher in. They returned to the  _ Steadfast _ , and Ren set off in his TIE fighter, following some mystical instructions to a planet called Exegol. Reports followed soon after, relayed through Allegiant General Pryde. Something in the giddy authority of his voice made Hux suspect that little of it was news to him.

“Supreme Leader Ren has met with the Emperor,” said Pryde, as Hux and Admiral Griss followed him down a hallway, “we will be furnished with new ships and new troopers, a fleet with the power to finally crush the resistance and bring the galaxy to heel. The ships of the Final Order will be ready to wipe rebellion from the face of the galaxy in forty-eight hours' time. Our victory will be swift and the real work of ruling and rebuilding will begin.”

“What wonderful news,” Hux remarked, hoping the breathlessness of his tone might be mistaken for excitement rather than horrified realization. 

So this was why the Stormtrooper Program’s budget had been slashed. Funds were needed to finish the Final Order’s fleet, which would bring with it enough troopers to make the program’s recruiting missions - the largest component of the budget - completely unnecessary.  _ New trooper recruits are not a top priority at this time _ , he remembered Pryde telling General Engell. Of course they weren’t. Perhaps the whole campaign into Hutt Space had been a scheme to keep the Resistance busy and tie up the Supreme Council so that the most capable officers did not notice the gathering storm, or to use up so many resources that they would have no choice but to lean on the Final Order’s new fleet. He wondered if the duralium from the ice planet had really all been sold off, or if he had inadvertently delivered more shipbuilding materials straight into the hands of these conspirators. 

But they weren’t conspirators. This Final Order had been in the works since the fall of the Empire, if not before it. He and Sloane and everyone else who had dedicated their lives to building the First Order had been played for fools, risking everything, sacrificing uncountable lives, to prop up a lie. Poe was right - the First Order was designed to destroy its own. He had spent his entire career chasing after a dream that was no more than the pretty glowing lure of a deep sea monster, and now he was staring down its jaws. He had been so focused on climbing out of the pit of his past; he had never stopped to consider what might be waiting for him at the top.

“Indeed. In the meantime, General Hux,” Pryde said, casting a cool glance over his shoulder, “do you have progress to report on the investigation into our spy?”

“The security bureau has formed a task force to pursue the matter. I expect their first report by the end of the cycle.”

Pryde hummed and nodded slowly. “See that this is dealt with quickly. The Final Order has no place for spies and no time to waste with inefficient personnel.”

“Rest assured, Allegiant General, we  _ will _ flush out and eliminate the traitor.” It took all his self-control to bite back the acid on his tongue as he spoke. The whole blasted Order were traitors, and what could he possibly do against all of them? 

“Well then, General, you may go,” said Pryde, “I must speak with the Supreme Leader.”

Hux ought to be present for such a call. Normally he would insist upon it, but he was too busy trying to hold himself together. He said nothing as he watched Pryde leave him behind, followed by Admiral Griss. 

He sat through a meeting about a mine operator called Boolio whose reported product did not match up to what was projected. He must be siphoning some of his minerals off - selling them on the black market before the First Order could take their share, likely supplying them to the Resistance. There was an inspection scheduled for later that same cycle. Nothing was expected to come of it. With the ongoing conflict in Hutt Space (and unbeknownst to the other officers in the meeting, the looming arrival of the Final Order) it was not a priority to waste resources ousting and replacing a mine operator for a relatively harmless, low-level crime. 

All the while, Hux’s mind was elsewhere. He could survive this transition of power. He had shored up his place enough for that. If he kept his head down, questioned nothing, he could watch the Final Order bring the galaxy to its knees and stamp out the Resistance once and for all. But what then? It wouldn’t be order that followed. Ren’s dark magic didn’t allow for that, and with his power unchecked, with the Emperor’s return by whatever unnatural means he had used, there could be nothing but chaos and cruelty ahead. This wasn’t what he had spent his life fighting for. It wasn’t what Sloane had died for. 

Sloane - 

There was no point trying to expose Pryde for her murder now. After all, Pryde could simply tell the truth - that he had eliminated her to protect the Final Order. She had been too close to uncovering it before it was ready. And now the Final Order was here, and it would protect its own. He could hardly use official channels to oust the Allegiant General when the official channels were on his side. If he wanted to avenge Sloane, he would have to do it himself, and get his hands dirty. So what then? Whip out a blaster and shoot him on the bridge? No. That was suicide, and it wouldn’t fix the problem. Ren would just find someone else to fill Pryde’s shoes - someone just as ruthless and evil. Cutting off a single branch of a diseased tree wouldn’t stop its blight from infecting the entire orchard. The whole thing had to be felled. Hux would have to bring down the entire apparatus - the First and Final Orders. If he survived, he could rebuild it again as Sloane had done after the fall of the Empire. If he did not - well, then it hardly mattered what came next. But how was he going to do it? What could one man - one weak-willed bastard boy without the Force, without an army - do against such powerful evil?

“What do you think, General Hux?” One of the officers asked pointedly.

“What?” Hux realized he had missed the last several minutes of discussion, lost in thought.

“About a fine for the mine operator. Roughly equivalent to the amount he would have made selling his minerals off on the black market?”

Hux hummed and nodded. “Right. Yes. That should dis-incentivize the fool.”

“Excellent. I and the rest of the inspection crew are scheduled to depart in just under two hours. I shall be sure to collect the fine myself.”

“Very well,” said Hux, rising from his seat, “if that is all, I have important business to attend to.” He was halfway to the door before the other officer had a chance to reply.

“Yes sir,” she managed, “thank you for your time, sir.”

The door hissed shut behind him and his thoughts turned inward again as he made for his quarters. 

What could he do against the might of the Final Order? Against Ren and Pryde and Emperor Palpatine himself - whatever he was now? How could he stop the very system he had spent his life shoring up? He was nothing compared to all that power. He would do better to submit - to go on as he always had, patiently serving stronger men, waiting for his turn, his chance to strike. But there would never be a turn if he waited. If blowing up with the second Death Star didn’t kill Palpatine, then time couldn’t touch him either, and with his support, Kylo Ren would be unbeatable, and then there was Pryde, and the fleet of the Final Order with its tens of thousands of new officers. If he waited his turn, he’d simply be serving out his life among people he hated, working for a cause he did not believe in, and always with a lightsaber blade hovering above his neck, waiting to drop should he put a toe out of line. No. That was not an option. It wasn’t true survival. 

He had been climbing the ranks his whole life, just as his father had trained him to climb out of that pit, ever searching for the next place he could grab on or leap up, going and going, waiting for the moment he finally reached the top - when he could finally rest and feel safe. But the pit had no top. There was no climbing out. He wondered if it was not the pit that had tortured him all those years, but the climbing - climbing until he had no choice but to fall. Perhaps he had been too afraid of falling - perhaps falling was not such a terrible thing after all. He had fallen in love, hadn’t he? And that wasn’t so bad, unrequited as it was. Perhaps he could stand to fall from grace too. He could run, he could defect. 

No.

His gloved fingers pressed hard into leather-clad palms as he strode through the door to his quarters. No. He would dig his nails in and climb until the skin wore off his fingers if he had to. He would climb because he was built to do it - because even if there was nothing at the top of the pit, it was more than the nothing that waited for him anywhere else. Better to die doing what he was made for than to try to live a lie. He would see this thing through to the end, see that it was not all for nothing.

And there  _ was _ something he could do to defeat his enemies, or at least to try. It was little more than a shot in the dark, but it was the only option he could see, and he was running out of time. Pryde had said the fleet would strike in forty-eight hours' time. Once the attack began, it would already be too late for the Resistance to mount a defense. If he was going to tip them off, it had to be now - today. There was no time to agonize over whether or not this was the right choice - it was the only choice. He might have dedicated his life to fighting the Resistance, but his real enemies were here now.

He cast a glance back towards his hiding spot beside his bed where his and Poe’s comm was hidden. No. He couldn’t just go to Poe, he had to do this properly. He remembered what the other man had told him on Barison -  _ the best way to get your info in to Command is to leave it with a trusted informant - let them pass it on as an anonymous tip _ . He could just imagine the smugness in Dameron’s face if he knew - after all Hux’s protests that he was not a spy, he would never pass information to the Resistance again.  _ I told you so _ , he’d say,  _ I knew I could make a rebel out of you _ . At least he’d say that after the initial horror of what Hux was saying, and his concern for the general’s safety passed. 

He could call Poe and face his concern and his smugness later. Now he had to act, and fast. He practically threw himself into his desk chair, typing out a message summarising the horrors he had just learned as quickly and clearly as possible. But who would he pass the information on to? Any Resistance informant worth their salt would be unknown to him. Unless… 

Anyone willing to help the Resistance in any capacity was already risking their lives. Surely the only difference between someone smuggling minerals and someone smuggling information was what they had access to. That mine operator they were fining - Boolio. He was siphoning off minerals and, if their intelligence was correct, sending them to the Resistance. His crimes so far were enough to earn him a fine, but not close scrutiny, but it did show a dedication to their rebellious cause. He was the perfect go-between to pass Hux’s information on to Resistance Command and getting him the information was as simple as sending it with the inspection crew. 

Of course, the inspection crew was leaving soon. Hux glanced at his chrono. The inspection crew was leaving  _ very  _ soon, in just under half an hour. He would head them off at the hangar bay and pass the intel on a datadrive to the commanding officer with some lie he would think up on the way and an order to leave it on Boolio’s desk. 

He forced his hands to stop shaking as he pulled the drive from his computer. The information on this little piece of plastic was the most important thing in the galaxy. It was the difference between slaughter and survival, between hope and despair. He could not falter now, no matter how his stomach twisted and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. And why was he so frightened? He had spent his life trying to steer the course of the galaxy, to save it the only way he could imagine doing so - by bending it to his will. It had always resisted him. Even Starkiller had failed. Now he held in his hand something which would determine the fate of every being in the galaxy, and it wasn’t a weapon, it wasn’t a fist; it was hope. 

He thought of his early childhood - of Counselor Rax on that last day on Jakku. Later, Sloane had told him the truth of what Rax was. A monster. A traitor. Surely he had been the one to sew the evil seeds of the Final Order in the First Order all those years ago. But there was one thing he had said that Hux desperately needed to hear now:  _ Fear is useful when it guides us—but it becomes dangerous when it governs us.  _ He would not be governed by his fear. He would not balk before the task at hand. He felt his fear and accepted it. He feared a future ruled by Pryde or Kylo Ren or the old Emperor far more than he feared what the Resistance might do. Strange as it was, he didn’t doubt himself. He didn’t feel conflicted. 

He flagged down the commanding officer as she was boarding the transport with the troopers that made up the inspection crew.

“General Hux?” She saluted as she hurried back across the hangar bay to meet him. “Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem,” said Hux, his voice even and confident as ever. “Quite the opposite, in fact. It occurred to me that we would do better to keep tabs on our mine operator, rather than dis-incentivize him with a fine. If he is aiding the Resistance, it is only a matter of time before he reveals himself. I’ve loaded a simple spyware program onto this drive. Leave it on his desk with the usual brochure of procedures and protocols. Once he loads its contents to his computer, we will be able to track all his communications and catch him in the act, maybe even capture a few of his allies in the Resistance as well. Don’t bother fining him, let him think he’s gotten away with a slap on the wrist. Am I clear?”

Confusion flitted across the officer’s face, followed by understanding and then excitement. Clearly she liked the idea of being part of a larger plot against the Resistance - an opportunity for advancement no doubt. 

“Yes sir,” she nodded eagerly, taking the drive from Hux and tucking it into the packet of materials in her arms.

“Very good,” he said. “Be absolutely sure the drive reaches his desk. If this all goes to plan, I will include a mention of your excellent work in my report to the Allegiant General. Now go, I’ve held you up long enough.”

The future was out of his hands now. He could only hope this vital information reached the Resistance in time. He watched the transport depart, hands clasped behind his back. Whatever happened next, his life was over - the First Order as he knew it, as he made it, was gone. He would be caught and killed by the Order, or die at the hands of the Resistance. Either way, he hoped, he would see his enemies fall first. Perhaps it had not always been leading to this moment, but it had led here in the end. It might have been cowardice that kept him from changing his path sooner, kept him from defecting as Poe had begged him, or maybe it was strength. It didn’t matter in the end. He was here, and this was the end. He would take no out. He was afraid, but he was not governed by his fear.

As he made his way back to his quarters, he thought of that little boy on that ship on Jakku - the wisdom Rax had imparted in him, the power he had been granted. Perhaps he had been doomed from that very moment. Hux imagined kneeling before his younger self as the Counselor had done in that transport, giving him advice that might have saved him: 

_ True power isn’t the striking fist, it’s the hand offered to someone desperately hanging off a ledge. You can’t beat the galaxy into submission any more than your father can beat you into submission. Just like you, the galaxy will bounce back every time it’s beaten. Just a little crueler, a little colder than it had been. Don’t let them crush the kindness out of you. Don’t believe them when they tell you safety is at the top of a pit. They put you in the pit - put a pit in the heart of you - why would they ever let you out? _

He wished he could apologize to Cardinal - Archex. It was a cruel system which had played those two boys against each other. But Archex had seen that before Hux was ready to. He had gotten out. He had died free.

The doors of his quarters slid open, recognizing him like an old friend. He was calm as he fetched his comm from the hidden compartment beside his bed and settled onto the sofa to call Poe. All he wanted now was the warm familiarity of a conversation with the man he loved. Not to talk about anything in particular - just to talk. To savor what they had a little longer before the future arrived. 

“Armitage, hey!” The other man’s face flickered into view. He looked as though he was in the cockpit of his X-Wing. “What’s up, is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” said Hux, taking in the sight of him, helmet on, flight suit zipped to the neck. Even covered from head to toe he still looked dashing. “I didn’t catch you in the middle of a battle, did I?”

“No, no, I’m just on my way back from patrol. We just got back to base this morning, and it’s been pretty slow. I’ve got time to talk.”

“Good,” Hux smiled, “I just… wanted to see you. I missed you. It’s been a... a long day.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. I’d rather not think about it at all. Why don’t you tell me about your day?”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter babeyyy!!! Thank you all for sticking with me this long! I am so excited and sorry and a little afraid to see this story end, and I'm so glad I get to share it with you all

Starkiller Base, One Year Before

Silence was an alien creature to General Hux. He spent his days in meetings and command centers, barking orders or listening to briefings. Even at night he listened to the same gentle, monotonous propaganda messages he ordered played in all the Stormtrooper barracks. They were designed for subliminal brainwashing, but they worked just as well as lullabies. And perhaps it was their very brainwashing qualities that he so desperately desired - the way they kept the mind from turning too far inward - soothing the listener into dreams with promises of victory and righteousness. He had always been uneasy with silence, and he had known little of it, scarcely able to remember a time when there hadn’t at least been the engine of a Star Destroyer droning in his ear, but since Project Starkiller had entered its final stages, he had avoided it like death itself. Tonight, though, it felt important to be alone with his thoughts and with Starkiller. Tomorrow the super-weapon would be fired and neither he nor the galaxy would ever be the same again.

A fresh layer of snow had fallen on the ground, glowing in the floodlights around the base. By dawn it would be plowed, the great stage made ready for his speech, but tonight it lay undisturbed, a funeral shroud over the ground, swallowing even the sound of his footsteps. There were only a few troopers patrolling the perimeter, white armor hardly visible against the snow. Beyond them, trees loomed out of the night, their shapes a deeper darkness than the sky. Not that there were many stars to light the night. Even before the light pollution of the base, the sky this far into the Unknown Regions was mostly empty. There were no moons - not anymore. They were an early test target for the dark energy canon. Their ends had been brilliant explosions, but the darkness they had left behind was just as blinding. 

Tomorrow the Hosnian System would be nothing but an absence too - a yawning void where the mind expected something solid to be. The people there didn’t know it yet, of course. They would have no time to contemplate their end. It would be mercifully quick. Tonight people would be out drinking or dancing, or tucking their children into bed for what they did not know would be the last time. Lovers would part with plans to see one another again - plans they did not know they could never keep, and students and workers would worry over deadlines they would never have to meet. Surely they did not all deserve the fate that awaited them. They were living beings after all, and he felt them - felt their lives weighing down on him, screaming in his ears so loud it deafened him and he was drowning in silence all over again. But then, he reminded himself, the loyal citizens of the Empire that lost their lives after its fall hadn’t deserved their fates either. Neither did the children who suffered and died neglected by the New Republic. None of this was fair, or right, but at least it was strategic - at least it was a step towards justice and peace. An atrocity now to ensure that no more would happen in the future. He was winning security for the future of the galaxy, and all it would cost was several trillion lives, and his own humanity. 

_ If you kill trillions all at once _ , he thought bitterly,  _ the galaxy labels you a villain, a monster. But if you kill those trillions slowly - if you do it with neglect - shuffle them off out of sight and out of mind - let them starve or die of disease - the galaxy doesn't care, indeed they'd gleefully make you chancellor of the New Republic. _ Perhaps he was a monster - but the whole blasted system was monstrous. At least this act might put an end to it - clear the way for something better. 

He approached the perimeter of the base and waved off the trooper guarding it.

“I won’t be going far,” he reassured the guard, pulling his greatcoat closer about himself as he made for the woods.

The first time Hux had visited this place - once called Illum - it had bombarded all his senses at once. He seldom left the controlled environment of star destroyers and space stations, and the planet’s surface, with its sunlight catching blindingly on snow and its wind laced with the biting scent of conifer trees, its uneven ground and its constantly changing air pressure and temperature was enough to give him a pounding headache almost at once. Still, he had forged on with the rest of the surveying party, eager to see for himself the planet with a core of kyber. It was hardly an untouched natural paradise even then. The Empire had been strip-mining it for decades, and a ghastly scar ran across the planet’s face. Still, he remembered being utterly overwhelmed by the flora and fauna - the birds in the air; the insects crawling along the frosty ground. It had been a long time indeed since he had been somewhere truly alive, and it seemed as though he no longer fit in with it - as though he had become something no more organic than the tech they used to survey. Even before Starkiller was built into the core of the planet, it was draining his humanity - or making him more aware of how little he had.

As he passed beyond the tree line, where only the faintest ghost of the base’s lights could reach, a thought occurred to him - he could still stop this. No one knew Starkiller Base like he did. No one knew the corners he had been forced to cut to meet Snoke’s reduced five year timeline. He could internally compromise the thermal oscillator, and no one would be able to reverse it before the whole base was destroyed. He could do it and take a shuttle and be halfway across the galaxy before anyone was the wiser. The galaxy might continue to fall to chaos, but he would save several trillion people who would otherwise be dead. He would save himself from becoming a monster in the eyes of the galaxy. These were the thoughts of a coward. But that didn't mean they were wrong.

But where would he go if he ran? He had no family, no friends, no allies to flee to. The First Order would come after him - send spies out across the galaxy - hire bounty hunters - whatever it took to kill him. He knew too much to be allowed to live free. And it wasn’t as if the New Republic would help him. They couldn’t even keep their own people safe, and he would be an enemy of the state even without the desolation that Starkiller would bring. The Order was all he had. Everything he was, everything he had done or earned or been given, was because of it. He couldn’t leave. Could he? 

If he was going to do it it was tonight or never. Tomorrow morning, when he gave the order to fire, his fate would be sealed. He could save the galaxy from chaos and suffering, but the method would be so brutal, so foul, that he could never be forgiven for it. 

___

_ The Steadfast _ , 12 Hours Before

The chirp of the comm Poe had given him had woken him towards the end of the sleep cycle - pulling him from a brief and hard-won sleep. His head spun from the sudden snap to wakefulness and the residual effects of the sleep aid he had taken several hours before. Hux might have been annoyed by it - even intended to complain to the other man, but the moment he saw the grim expression on Dameron’s face, he dropped all his petty concerns.

“What is it?” He asked, pushing his dishevelled hair from his eyes as he took the comm and sat on his sofa. It was bright where Poe was - the tired lines in his face cast in soft natural light. He couldn’t see the background, but he thought the shadows suggested trees.

“It’s you isn’t it,” the other man demanded, “you’re the First Order spy who passed Boolio the intel on Palpatine.”

Hux shuddered at the word  _ spy _ . He hated it and all its slimy, untrustworthy implications. He wasn’t some cowardly traitor. He was still loyal to the First Order - the Order as he had always hoped it could be - as Sloane had envisioned it and died for it. He would go to his grave knowing that he was loyal, if only to a dream - to a hope. Still, he had chosen to pass information to the Resistance, and for all intents and purposes, that did make him a spy. And the fact that Poe knew that meant his shot in the dark had found home. His plan had worked. His hope would live on - he wouldn’t die for nothing.

“Yes,” he said, embarrassment and relief and grief all battling it out in his voice, “it was me. Sweet stars, I’m glad the information made it in time. But keep that to yourself, I can’t risk it getting out even among the Resistance. Not yet. You’ve got to mount an attack immediately, you-”

“I know,” Poe waved him off and shook his head, “I know we’re working on it. Rey says there’s some secret Jedi map to Exegol and once we find it, we can face the fleet. But Armitage, you - you’ve got to get out of there soon. Once the battle starts, it’ll be a lot harder for me to extract you - not to mention what’ll happen if the Order figures out it’s you who’s the spy. You need to take a shuttle, an escape pod - whatever - send me your location and I’ll come get you myself.”

Hux sighed and shook his head. He knew this conversation - or something like it - would happen eventually, and he was dreading it. “No, Poe,” he said, “I’m not leaving.”

“If you’re worried about the Resistance prosecuting you, you don’t have to. You’ve just delivered us the most important information in the galaxy. We’d’ve been fucked without that. They’ll see that. You won’t be executed - you’ll have a fair trial, and if you help us win this last battle, you might even get a pardon. Hell, forget going to trial, I’ll hide you - find you somewhere safe to lie low.” He kept his voice hushed, as if he were trying to ensure no one could listen in, but the urgency in his tone could move mountains. It even shook Hux’s resolve, but it couldn’t break it.

“I need to stay here and do what I can to slow down the Order - buy you as much time as I can so you can win. And you need every second of that time. You can’t let this distract you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Hugs, of course I’ll save you - I’ll come for you and get you out and-”

“There’s no time.” He insisted, his voice breaking, “you have sixteen hours before the Final Order’s attacks will begin, you need to rally your troops and act  _ now _ .”

Poe shook his head in denial or disbelief, but there was a horrible, tortured knowing in his eyes. He understood that Hux was right, that winning the war had to be his priority, but he hated that knowledge, and his stubborn, hopelessly hopeful soul would fight against it, no matter what was right or rational.

“I’ll fight for you,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically thin, “in the war, in the senate, anywhere, whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay - that you make it out safe. I’ll give up my rank, my reputation - I don’t care, none of that matters. None of it.”

“I know. Oh, Poe, I know you would.” More than ever he wished he could reach through the hologram and touch him - cup his cheek, press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of him one last time. Poe was a good man. Too good for him - too good for this wretched galaxy.

“Then why?” The desperation in his tone had turned to anger. “Why go behind my back with this intel - pass it to some third party like I wouldn’t know it was you? Why didn't you trust me?”

“Because I knew you would try to play the hero and you can't do that Poe, not this time, not for me. The galaxy needs you too much. You have too much good still to do. This time you can't save everybody. But you can save the galaxy. That has to be your priority.” He forced his own voice to come out cold and stern, as if he were giving orders on the bridge, but his heart was breaking. He could feel it tearing itself apart between his ribs like Starkiller exploding.

“That's not your choice to make!” The other man’s eyes flashed with rage - with hurt - with something Hux couldn’t name.

He swallowed hard. “Poe, don’t you see I’m trying to do right? I have a chance to help save the galaxy, to at least do a little to make up for all the damage I’ve done. There’s no place for me in a future without the First Order, but at least I can make sure there is one.”

“Of course there’s a place for you!” He was shouting now, voice crackling through the comm. “There’s a place for you with  _ me _ . I thought you knew that. I thought that would be enough for you…” His shout cracked and crumbled into something almost like a sob.

“This is bigger than you and I.” Hux insisted, pleading with Poe to see reason, to stop grieving what was already doomed. “I don’t want to hurt you - it’s the last thing I want but -”

“No!” Poe roared, any fear of being overheard long abandoned. “No, damn it, Armitage! I’m not having this conversation. It’s not up to you. I’m going to save the galaxy and you too, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming off the  _ Steadfast _ . You deserve to be happy and safe, and calm for one in your life, and I deserve that too - I deserve to be happy with you after all of this. We’re both gonna see the end of this war, and when it’s over, and Palpatine’s dead for good, you’ll see you can live with it, and I’ll tell you ‘I told you so’ - there’s a lot I’ll tell you. I won’t… I won’t let you be another person I couldn’t save.”

Hux gripped the arm of his sofa until his knuckles turned white and his fingers hummed with the loss of circulation. “Poe…” he whispered, begging himself not to break down, to keep up his cool facade, “oh Poe… you do deserve to be happy. Of course you do. And you will be. But not with me. You and I both know you don’t have time to save me. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. It was my choice. I’ve done so much evil - Starkiller, running the Stormtrooper program - those were my choices too - but this is the first thing I’ve ever chosen for myself - the first thing I’ve ever done that I have no doubt is right. You need to let me do this, Poe. And you need to know it’s not about you - please believe me - it’s not for you. It’s me.  _ My choice _ , and I’m making it gladly.”

“How am I  _ not _ supposed to blame myself for this? After everything we’ve been through, how am I supposed to just sit back and let you… let you…” He was making no attempt to hide the emotion in his voice, the anguish, the betrayal, the grief.

But there was no pleading with reality. Hux could not be saved now, no matter how much he or Poe might want it. All he could do was face the end with dignity and determination, and offer the other man what little encouragement he could. “Don’t sit back,” he urged, “fight. Win. Make sure this means something. It's done now. My fate is sealed. Can’t you just accept it? We don't have much time and I'm trying to die standing up for something - like you said-”

But far from looking encouraged, Poe’s expression twisted with fury. “Come on,” he spat, “this isn’t about you wanting to die for anything. It’s about you being too afraid to live without the First Order now that you know it was wrong all along - too afraid to live through this - to live in a galaxy you don't control! That's what this is. You'd rather die - you'd rather give up on what we have - than learn to live with what you’ve done in the past. You're a selfish bastard, you know that? And a coward.”

His words came as a searing bolt to the heart, but also as a relief. If Poe hated him, if he resented and reviled him as a coward, he would be less sorry to see Hux go. He would recover faster, move on, be happy. Though it was agonizing, Hux loved him too much to see him suffer.

“Maybe I am,” he said cooly, “but I’ve accepted my fate. It’s time for you to do it too. This is war, Dameron. People die. You should know that by now. I’m just… sorry we have to leave things like this.”

Poe’s face hardened into a scowl. “That’s your choice, leaving it like this, not mine.”

“It is.”

Poe’s face flickered and vanished as the other man shut off his comm. Finally alone and unseen, Hux let himself break - let his back fold, his hands come to his face as a choked sob escaped his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wept like this. He thought his chest might collapse in on itself, crushed by the black hole that had replaced his heart. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be noble or good, he just wanted to be happy - be with Poe, forget every horrible thing in his past. He was frightened and lost and utterly alone. Still, he knew,  _ he knew _ he had done the right thing.

Poe might hurt for a time. Might hate Hux, think him callous or cowardly or cruel, but he would accept at some point what he must already know to be true - that this thing they had was never going to end well. Hux was never going to defect and run away with him, and even if he did, it wouldn’t last. Poe would see him for what he was - a wound, a mistake. Somehow, Hux might have tricked Poe into caring for him, but the illusion would fade, and Poe would leave him like his mother, like Sloane, or else despise him like his father or Archex or Kylo Ren. No one who knew Armitage Hux had loved him - not enough to stay. 

No. 

This thing they had was always temporary and fleeting, like all the best and most beautiful things. It was always going to come apart. Better it be like this - him doing the right thing and dying with all his hopeless love and his countless sins - and Poe living on, moving on, and building a better future than Hux ever could. He couldn’t love Hux, not really. But someday he would find someone to love, someone to give that ring he wore around his neck to. Hux loved him enough he didn’t care if it was him - that it could never be him. 

He had pulled himself together by the time his alarm went off. Kylo Ren had called an emergency meeting of the Supreme Council. A strategy meeting, he suspected, for the battle to come. Ren hadn’t bothered to brief any of his officers besides Pryde and Hux directly about what had happened on Mustafar, and only Pryde knew the full extent of what the Supreme Leader had found on Exegol. It was well past time they were all briefed on the situation.

He washed every trace of tears from his face and compartmentalized his sorrow as easily as he brushed his hair. He hid his broken heart beneath his freshly pressed tunic and his shaking hands beneath his leather gloves. By the time he left his quarters, he looked entirely himself - hard and cold and loyal to the Order, whether it be First or Final.

General Engell met him outside the conference room.

“I’ve been looking over the Allegiant General’s reports,” she said, “and though I initially worried the new fleet would make our stormtrooper program obsolete, I realized it’s actually a great opportunity. Of course the Final Order has plenty of troopers now, but in the long term, a larger fleet demands more soldiers. And once the galaxy folds before the Order, there will be countless children for the harvesting. It’s actually wonderful news for us. This is only the beginning, don’t you agree, general?”

He forced a tight smile, though the word  _ harvesting  _ made him shiver with distaste. “Yes,” he said, “you’re entirely right. We should set a meeting to discuss the future of the program - significant expansion always requires some structural change.” He doubted there would be a meeting. He would be dead before that could happen, Engell too, if the Resistance was successful. Once he pushed past his initial fear, it was almost liberating. No more meetings, no more fake smiles while he signed off on things he knew were cruel and wrong. 

“Indeed,” Engell said as they entered the conference room, “I’ll have my aide pencil something in later in the week.”

“Excellent.”

Ren was late, of course. Everyone else was there - Engell, Parnadee, Quinn, Griss, Pryde, even a few anxious-looking aides, datapads ready and waiting to take notes of the proceedings. It had been a long time indeed since the Supreme Leader had bothered to attend one of his council’s meetings. 

Allegiant General Pryde was sitting opposite Hux, studying his face with undisguised smugness. He had won, or so he thought. His decades of scheming had paid off, and Armitage Hux the pretender - the boy who wasn’t worthy of the purified air he breathed - had been cut down to size. He was doomed to languish in some mediocre command post or be disposed of for his uselessness. It was as if his own father were watching him, and just like Brendol before him, Pryde would pay for underestimating him.

But all those thoughts were banished the moment Kylo Ren stormed into the room and slammed a grizzly object onto the table.

It was the horned head of a green alien - one Hux recognized as the mine operator Boolio. His eyes were half-closed, mouth forced shut by the force of the Supreme Leader’s slam. Green blood had splattered from the stump of the neck, sullying the conference table. Barely stifled gasps around the room. Even Pryde’s stern face turned pale as he started. Hux thought he might be sick then and there, found the edge of his seat and gripped it tight as he could. 

“We have a spy in our ranks,” Ren stated flatly, “who sent a message to the Resistance. Whoever this traitor is won’t stop us. They will fail like their accomplice,” a gesture towards the severed head, “ _ he _ should find it more difficult now to deliver messages to the Resistance.” 

It felt as though Ren was speaking directly to him, as if all the eyes in the room were looking at him, or trying not to look at him. But of course that was all an illusion. They couldn’t know or else he’d already be dead. It took all of Hux’s mental strength to keep from betraying himself in his thoughts then and there. Even so, he couldn’t help the image that flashed in his mind of his own head slammed unceremoniously down on the table. Would his corpse be shown so little respect when it was his turn? He supposed he wouldn’t be in a position to care.

“General Pryde has reported to you the details of my journey to Exegol,” the Supreme Leader said brusquely, moving to sit, leaving the head where it rested in the center of the table. “The First Order is about to become a true Empire.”

He forced himself to look away from the alien - to focus on Kylo Ren - his mask - its glowing red seams, like fault lines, he thought, about to tear themselves apart.

“I sense unease about my appearance, General Hux.” 

He felt Ren studying him through the helmet - felt his Force powers prying like tendrils at the cracks in his consciousness, trying to see into his mind.

“About the mask?” He blinked and forced his tone to remain dull and innocuous. “No, sir. Well done.”

“I like it,” Parnadee agreed from beside him. He wondered if she was trying to help him or just to take the opportunity to curry favor.

From down the long table, General Quinn scoffed. “These allies on Exegol,” he said, not a hint of fear in his voice, “they sound like a cult. Awaiting the return of the Sith. Conjurers and soothsayers…” 

He had never bothered to disguise his contempt for the Force - a relic from his youth in the Empire, where they could afford to pretend such dark sorcery didn’t exist. He was an idiot, Hux thought, blustering his way towards certain death. The rest of the council seemed to agree, visibly shrinking away from Quinn, as if desperate not to be tainted by his foolishness. Hux internally prayed he would see sense before this brashness got him killed, half because Quinn would make a useful red herring in the search for an internal spy, and half because he had seen enough death for one morning. He didn’t think his stomach could handle another corpse at this table.

“They conjured legions of star destroyers,” Pryde argued, a warning tone to his stern voice, “the Sith fleet will increase our resources ten thousand fold. Such range and power will correct the error of Starkiller Base.” That last sentence was not spoken to Quinn but to Hux, as Pryde’s ice blue stare met his with contempt. Hux returned the distasteful glare, though he was careful not to overstep his hostility. Pryde’s time would come. Let him be smug and insufferable now.

“We’ll need to increase recruitments,” said Parnadee, looking encouragingly between Hux and Engell, clearly trying to salvage the situation before someone got killed, “harvest more of the galaxy’s young—”

Engell nodded encouragingly and Hux forced a smile, still resolutely avoiding looking at their gory centerpiece. 

“This fleet,” Quinn went on, brash and foolish as ever. “What is it… a gift? What is he asking for in return? Does he—”

His rant was abruptly cut off as Ren’s arm shot out and he flew up into the ceiling. There was a sickening crack as something inside him broke. Hux had hoped it was his neck, that he might at least go quickly, but the Force had not been so merciful. Ren kept Quinn pinned to the ceiling, red faced from pain and lack of oxygen for what felt like another eternity before he finally choked to death, his corpse still pressed to the ceiling like some grotesque party balloon. 

Hux tasted bile in the back of his throat and fought to swallow it down. Ren was demonstrating in no uncertain terms that the council meant nothing anymore. They were only permitted to hold their power - to live - so long as they obeyed him completely. They were utterly disposable. Not for the first time, uncertainty reared its head. What could he - what could anyone do against such power? Such ruthlessness? Kylo Ren was unstoppable, and he was only growing stronger by the day.

“Prepare to crush any worlds that defy us,” the Supreme Leader said, “in the meantime, my Knights and I are going hunting for the scavenger. General Hux, Allegiant General Pryde, with me.”

The Supreme Leader pushed himself up from the table, finally letting Quinn’s corpse crash down from the ceiling with another bone-chilling  _ crack _ . 

Hux hastily rose and followed him, forcing himself not to look at his former colleague’s crumpled form, or the splatter of blood he had left on the table when he hit it on his way down. He noted with a little satisfaction that even Pryde's usually calm demeanor seemed shaken. He must know that now that Ren and Palpatine were communicating directly, his secret knowledge no longer held much sway. He was almost as disposable as the rest of them.

_ The scavenger _ , Hux thought as he hastened after Ren, the scavenger was the key. He had never met her, only seen her described in reports, or heard the way Poe talked about her. Rey. That was her name. She was just an orphan from Jakku. She had grown up in the wreckage of that final battle, among the shadows of his own childhood. He wondered if she had been born dead the way Rax said everyone was on that wretched world. It was hardly important. The only thing that mattered was that she had faced Kylo Ren before and survived, even bested him. That was something no one else in the galaxy had done. Poe had her on his side. There was hope.

Once in the hallway, they were joined by the Knights of Ren - the whole filthy horde of them tromping down the hallway, leaving a trail of mud behind them. Hux struggled to keep pace with Ren and Pryde, desperate not to fall behind and get caught up in the group of knights.

“What is the status of the search for the scavenger?” He demanded.

“Sir,” Pryde volunteered, “No leads yet, but the search continues.” 

Hux stifled the rush of relief at those words. The longer she evaded Ren, the better chance the Resistance had of reaching Exegol and destroying the Sith Fleet before it was too late. He quelled the relief with resentment, noting that if he had been the one to deliver disappointing news to Ren, he would be killed, or at least seriously injured. Quinn’s red face staring down from the ceiling with bulging eyes was still etched into his mind. He didn’t think he would forget it as long as he lived - not that that would be much longer.

“There’s no time,” Ren’s voice betrayed agitation even through the mask, but still he did nothing to harm Pryde, only sighed with uncharacteristic acceptance. “I’ll need to locate her myself.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Pryde returned.

It was a good thing, getting Ren off the  _ Steadfast _ . It meant at least he could think freely. But if Ren went after the girl himself and found her - bested her - if Poe was with her… he had to do something if he could - buy more time, throw a wrench in Ren’s plans.

“When she’s found,” he interjected, almost jogging to insert himself between Pryde and the Supreme Leader, “I’ll personally take the kill squads to—”

“Scan all systems for a Corellian YT-1300,” Ren instructed Pryde without so much as glancing at Hux, “The  _ Millennium Falcon  _ is the ship she’ll be in. The Knights of Ren will lead this hunt, General Hux. There is no room for error.” He turned to face the general down with those last words, and Hux felt his cheeks burn.

“Why don’t you focus on your investigation into our spy. Surely the Security Bureau has something worthwhile to report by now.” Pryde ordered him away in the tone a parent might use to dismiss an especially needy and irritating child. 

Fine. This wasn’t all bad. It showed how deeply they underestimated him, thought him a weak, blundering fool who could only ever bungle plans. From the outside, he couldn’t blame them. Ren had the Force on his side, and Pryde had his rank and his closeness to the Emperor, but Hux had patience. He had the seething determination of a man who had been beaten a thousand times and never broken. No one had ever underestimated Armitage Hux and lived. They would pay, and soon. For now, though, he let them go - let them leave him behind in the corridor; the knights shoving past him as they went.

Hux returned to his quarters to check-in with Colonel Garmuth of the FOSB on the status of his investigation into the spy in the ranks of the First Order. As Pryde had indicated, the hunt for the spy was second only in importance to the hunt for the scavenger, and if Hux could find a scapegoat, or find a way to obfuscate things further, he could buy himself and the Resistance a little more much-needed time. Garmuth was joining him via hologram, white-gloved fingers knitted before him and glowing blue in the projection. 

“As you have no doubt been told,” said Hux, relieved his voice betrayed none of the anxiety roiling in his brain, “our internal spy has been linked to another leak, this time a much more serious one. An accomplice was apprehended and dealt with by the Supreme Leader himself, but unfortunately he met his end before there could be any interrogation.”

Garmuth sighed and shook his head. “Far be it from me to question the wisdom of Leader Ren, but it would be useful every once in a while to have a traitor live long enough for questioning. I understand the same fate befell the conspirators in your staff who tried to poison you?”

Hux shivered, thinking of Opan and Mitaka. Two more reasons he had to succeed. “Yes,” he said flatly, “it did.”

“Well,” said the colonel, “for obvious reasons protocol requires that I don’t give any officer outside the FOSB too much information on ongoing internal investigations, but as I’m sure the Allegiant General and Supreme Leader will expect an update from you, I’ll tell you this, given that our traitor leaked news of the Final Order before it was made public to the whole Order, we can surmise it was one of the Supreme Council or their aides who were copied on or privy to the first briefing from the Allegiant General. You should be careful, General Hux, it may be whoever was behind the plot to poison you is very close to you indeed. Can you think of anyone on the council who might have such a grudge against you?”

“Interesting, but I can’t imagine any of the Council would do such a thing. We might have our disagreements, but we’re all close colleagues, there is nothing but mutual respect, or so I thought.” Hux shook his head in a show of shock. If any good had come from the deaths of Opan and Mitaka, it was that it bought him a little more distance from suspicion. After all, he was a victim of a treasonous plot, how could he be the one behind it? But that would only buy him a little more time. He couldn’t count on it to save him. “Have you considered that the late General Quinn might be our traitor? He was vehemently opposed to the campaign into Hutt Space, and made no secret of his distaste for the Sith Fleet.”

Surprise flickered for a split second across Garmuth’s composed face. “I’m sorry,” he said, “the  _ late  _ General Quinn?”

Hux’s heart sang relieved - he knew something Garmuth didn’t. He still had an edge and he would wield it for all it was worth. “Yes,” he said, “Supreme Leader Ren… executed him at the council meeting this morning.”

“Whatever for?”

Hux shrugged, “obstinance? He was casting doubt on the legitimacy of the Sith Fleet, and the Supreme Leader did not take kindly to it. Or perhaps it was something more, but who can say? The Supreme Leader may well have seen something in his mind that influenced his decision.”

“That is… interesting,” Garmuth nodded. “I will see what further intelligence we can gather on Quinn. We’re preparing to recall the inspection crew that last visited the traitor’s mine. From what we can tell, they were the last First Order personnel to make contact. It is likely they passed the leaked data, knowingly or otherwise, from our spy to their accomplice. Once questioning begins we should greatly be able to narrow down our list of suspects.”

Hux felt his stomach drop. If they questioned the officer who led the inspection crew, she would no doubt tell them that he had given her a drive to leave on Boolio’s desk. Once that happened, it was all over. He needed more time - he needed to buy the Resistance more time. Ren was close to tracking down the girl and if she was on the  _ Millenium Falcon _ , there could be no doubt Poe was with her. 

“I would be more than happy to save you the trouble of flying them out to your base and hold the interrogation here on the  _ Steadfast _ ,” Hux offered, “the Supreme Leader himself could supervise.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Garmuth, “as I said, this is an internal investigation, the FOSB must handle it directly.”

“Very well then,” Hux nodded tightly. He would have to find another way to run interference. He couldn’t risk Garmuth and the FOSB blowing his cover before he at least had the chance to see the tide turn against his enemies.

“We should have a fuller picture of the situation by the end of the cycle. I suppose by then with the Sith Fleet in action the traitor will hardly be a concern. Still, what better way to welcome in a new age than with the execution of one who tried to sabotage it all.”

“Indeed. I look forward to your report and putting an end to all of this. In the meantime I shall let the Allegiant General know of your progress.”

As Garmuth’s image flickered and vanished, Hux noted a message had come in on his datapad from Allegiant General Pryde. Supreme Leader Ren had sensed the girl’s presence on the planet Pasaana and taken off with his knights. If the scavenger was on Pasaana, Poe must be too - in pursuit of that secret Jedi map to Exegol that Poe had mentioned.  _ Please let them all be safe _ , he pleaded with the universe. Strategically, it only really mattered that the girl, Rey, survived, but selfishly Hux prayed hardest for Poe. He had been telling the truth when he said he hadn’t done this for Poe. It was for the galaxy, for Sloane and Mitaka and Opan, and for himself too. Still, Poe had been his strength - had been the one to thaw his heart enough for determination to take root. He couldn’t have done it without him. He couldn’t bear to have to finish this without him if he died first. 

And most selfishly of all, he wanted Poe to live on to remember him - remember what he had done and why and what it had cost. Starkiller had forced him to give up on his dream of being celebrated as a hero in his own time, but he had still hoped that history would absolve him - prove him right. Now he understood, no matter how events unfolded, history would not be kind to him. He would be remembered as a traitor or a tyrant, a snivelling coward or an irredeemable monster, and that fact yawned before him like the maw of a black hole. He had been climbing for so long - reaching for the glorious destiny that had been thrust upon him since he was a boy tasked with being the future of the Empire. Everything had turned rotten around him except for Poe Dameron - except for the love he felt for him. He reached for that now, like he had reached for the edge of the pit. If Poe remembered him - really remembered him, that could be enough. It would have to be. So Poe had to live. Poe had to keep knowing him after he was gone.

Of course, all of that was secondary to the task at hand. He had to buy more time - had to sabotage the FOSB’s investigation. The Inspection crew would still be being held in cells aboard the  _ Steadfast  _ awaiting transport. He debated releasing them, or killing them, but that was too messy and obvious. If he could get unsupervised access to the terminal in the hangar control room, he could alter the departure times and destinations for outgoing shuttles - nothing so extreme as to be immediately noticeable- just enough to delay their departure- send them off in the wrong direction. He had designed the First Order’s bureaucracy himself. He knew its faults, knew how easy it was for things to slip through the cracks, especially with the uncertainty surrounding the integration into the Final Order and the comm channels full of news from the front lines against the rebels.

No one questioned him on his way down to the hangar control room. Of course they didn't. He was one of the highest ranking officers in the Order, and he had the right to be anywhere in this ship he wanted, despite what his pounding heart might protest. There were only two guards on duty in the control room, both snapping to attention as Hux entered.

“Sir!” The nearest of the two officers said, “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“Bring up the shuttle logs for me,” he said, “We must have troop transports on reserve to assist Supreme Leader Ren in Pasaana,” he paused as the officer began swiping away at his touch screen then added with an impatient sniff, “nevermind, I’ll do it myself. Do me a favor and fetch me a cup tarine tea from the break room down the hall.”

“Yes sir, General Hux,” the officer saluted and hurried off. 

It should take him a full minute to prepare the drink. More than enough time to rearrange the logs. Hux checked that the second officer was fully engaged at his own terminal across the room, then pulled up the outgoing shuttle schedule and moved every departure time back one hour, before changing the destination of the detained inspection crew’s shuttle from the FOSB headquarters on the  _ Conqueror  _ to a base on Dantooine. He quickly changed a few more shuttle destinations to cover his tracks, then reserved the extra shuttles for Pasaana as he had said. Just in time, as he heard the control room door hiss open behind him.

“Hey, look at this,” the second officer called his returning colleague over, “they’re bringing in a Resistance ship they captured on Pasaana - the  _ Millenium Falcon!  _ And there’s a prisoner too!”

“What?” Hux demanded as he rose from his seat to join the other two officers looking at an alert on the consol. “What prisoner? Is it the girl?”

“I don’t think there’s any girl, sir,” the officer said, “but they’re bringing the prisoner into the main hangar now.”

“Bring me to them now.” Hux insisted, already leading the way.

If the  _ Falcon  _ was captured then at best the scavenger and her friends were trapped on Pasaana - at worst… but there would be reports if Ren successfully killed or captured the girl. She must have eluded him again. But what of Poe and the rest of them? There was only one prisoner. If Poe was dead… no. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t keep himself together long enough to go on without him. The best-case scenario was that the prisoner  _ was  _ Poe. It wouldn’t be ideal, but Hux could get him out. He would do anything to make sure he got out.

But the prisoner wasn’t Poe. His heart sank as he recognized the hulking, hairy, inhuman shape of a wookiee, escorted by the troopers. He knew of the beast - Chewbacca, Han Solo’s old accomplice. Hux forced himself to think strategically. This was good. Ren would be interested in this, as would Pryde. Ren’s attachment to the creature would make him all the more hateful. He’d no doubt want to kill it himself - or interrogate it - the emotions it would provoke would cloud his judgement and crucially buy more time.

“General Hux,” the trooper’s squad leader approached and saluted him. “We captured this prisoner on Pasaana, along with the  _ Millenium Falcon _ .”

“Very good,” Hux nodded, studying the wookiee closely. He hated to be on the beast’s bad side and within arm's reach of it, even with binders on. “And the girl?”

A sigh through the helmet. “She got away. Supreme Leader Ren is in pursuit. Her accomplices were still engaged with our troops on the planet’s surface. We weren’t able to determine if there were casualties.”

“I see. Go ahead and send in your report, but don’t mention the wookiee. I’ll tell Allegiant General Pryde myself. In the meantime, take it to a temporary holding cell on this level. I’ll come along. And have the ship towed to incineration, but make sure nothing is done to it before the Supreme Leader returns. I suspect he will want to inspect it himself, is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” the squad leader nodded stiffly.

Hux followed the guards to a nondescript holding cell down the hall from where the inspection crew was being held, waiting for their now delayed transport to FOSB custody. His heart was in his throat the whole way there, but he swallowed it down enough to order the guards out and give him a moment alone with the wookiee. The beast glared at him with beady eyes and growled deep in its throat. Hux would rather be almost anywhere in the galaxy than trapped in a small room with this monster, even locked up as it was, but he had one thing he had to ask it, one thing he had to know.

“Tell me,” he said, ensuring that he faced away from the security cam so that his lips could not be read, “Poe Dameron, is he alive? Is he unharmed? At least the last time you saw him? Please, I need to know.” He couldn’t disguise the desperation in his voice.

The wookie let out a surprised grunt and cocked its head, as if trying to gauge if he had some evil agenda.

“Please,” Hux pressed, “if you tell me this, I will do what I can to keep them from killing you.”

After a long pause, and another suspicious glare, the creature nodded, as subtly as it seemed able.

Hux couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. Poe was alive, or he had been not so long ago. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was enough. “Thank you,” he whispered earnestly.

His face was composed again by the time he left the cell. 

“Keep him here for now,” he told the guards, “I’ll go speak with the Allegiant General.”

___

Starkiller Base, One Year Before

There was an overlook some distance through the trees, from which one could view the whole above-ground portion of the base. By the time Hux reached it, a sweat had broken out on his brow despite the cold. He exercised regularly in the officer’s gym, but there was something different about doing it on uneven ground with the added resistance of snow beneath his feet and particles of pollen and dust in the air. More proof he wasn’t meant to survive in the wild. If his father were here, he’d never let the younger Hux hear the end.

At last he crested the hill and reached the overlook. The base spread out before him, the great stage draped in its red banners for his speech tomorrow. If he was there to give it. If he didn’t run. Not once in his career had he let doubt fester like this inside him. He had never had time. He had spent his entire life laser-focused on the next milestone, caring only that he made it, not how. Since the day he had been born, it was made clear to him that he was nothing. He had no inherent worth. All he was was what he could do - for himself, for the Empire, his father, the Order, Snoke. As a boy he was saved from death on Arkanis only because the Empire needed children to start over. It could have been any child, but it was him - paper-thin, weak-willed, unwanted Armitage Hux. An accident of fate, a simple convenience, had saved him once, and he was determined to never let it fall to chance again. He would be useful, indispensable. He would be  _ needed _ , and someday, he would be the most important man in the galaxy, and then he would be safe, because no one would dare hurt him. Every choice he had made was in service of that one simple goal: survival.

If all went to plan tomorrow the New Republic would fall and the First Order would reign supreme. Snoke would still be Supreme Leader and Ren his loyal apprentice, but Hux would be the one who delivered their victory. He would be the most important man in the galaxy. His future would be secure. But the cost… for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but think of the cost. All those lives. He’d killed or directly helped kill three people in his life, the rebel in the mine on Cirus II, his father, and Admiral Brooks. Two of those people had wronged him directly, and the third had been too dangerous to leave alive. And to be sure, he’d ordered other deaths, sent troopers off to die, to kill, he’d seen executions aplenty. He had signed off on strategies he knew would hurt the populace of planets they conquered - building mines or bases, relocating whole populations. He was steeped in death and suffering, had been since he was small, but he wasn’t a killer, or at least, he didn’t want to be. If he had had the choice, a real choice, ever in his life, he wouldn’t have chosen to be this. But there had been no choices, or if there had been he’d lost them in the desperation of his climb towards survival. And now he was inescapably, unchangeably  _ this _ . But perhaps he could choose not to be something worse.

But when he looked into the future, if he walked away tonight, all he saw was chaos. He had seen the propaganda films, had fallen asleep to the news announcements every night. He knew what the galaxy was like. It was evil. Worse than evil, it was uncaring. People were dying, planets upon planets were being crushed under the weight of the apathy of the galaxy. The unstable New Republic would eat itself eventually and if there was no capable power ready to take its place, the power vacuum it created would be a black hole big as the universe itself. He might survive if he destroyed Starkiller and fled, but he wouldn’t be safe. No one would. There were a million little children out there on distant planets whose lives hung in the balance of fate as his had once done. He had in his reach the power to save all of them, and countless more lives. If he didn’t do this, if he didn’t get up on stage tomorrow, rally his troops to a furor, and call in a new age of order and prosperity, if he didn’t fire his superweapon into the very heart of the New Republic and strike it down, wasn’t he a killer just the same? Either he killed with concentrated dark energy, or he killed with inaction, and wasn’t he just as guilty? Just as evil? The galaxy was a vicious beast, and if he didn’t beat it into submission, it would tear every living thing to shreds. He was the only one who could do it. He had to. 

Or perhaps these were all lies he told himself. Perhaps that was survival too. It hardly mattered now. His mind was made up, his fate was sealed.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end. I've worked on this since march, pretty much since the beginning of quarantine, and I've had a really rough few months - I think we all have. I really, truly don't know how I would have made it through without this story to work on, and the wonderful feedback and support I've gotten from all of you. I know this is a difficult ending, so before the emotions really set in, I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I'll be writing more in the future - probably some much more light-hearted things. If you haven't already, please feel free to find me on tumblr at queenphasma.tumblr.com  
> Again, thank you a thousand times over. I don't think I could possibly write an ending to really do justice to this story, but I hope I haven't let you down.

The _Steadfast_ , 5 Hours Before

THROUGH ORDER, PEACE. THROUGH DISCIPLINE, FREEDOM. The slogan hovered above a holo of his own face, staring resolutely out from the propaganda image in the lift. The General Hux in the holo showed no signs of doubt or treachery. His jaw was set, eyes bright and burning with zeal, staring into the far, vague distance at some glorious future - one which had proven itself as false and flat as the poster itself. Poor fool. 

The man in that image had no idea what horrors he was helping to build and spread. He was nothing but a tool in the hands of powers far beyond his comprehension. Of course the clues had been there all along, but he couldn't see them past the fundamental, unquestionable truth that had been beaten into him ever since he was small: that the First Order was right, that for all its secrets and its cruelty, it really did have the galaxy's best interests at heart. He had truly believed, like a faith-blinded idiot, that if he just worked hard enough, followed orders well enough, sacrificed what was necessary, that order really would bring peace, that discipline really would lead to freedom. And even when doubt had reared its head, when his heart screamed against his ribs that what he was doing was wrong, he had been more than willing to ignore it, to choose his own safety and success over the nagging truth. 

No more. The blinders were off, and he saw the whole, horrible reality of the situation. He couldn’t go back to the way he had been, even if he wanted to. Inaction was no longer an option.

Hux wondered how long it would take after his treason was discovered for this image to be erased, along with every other propaganda image featuring him. Would he even be cold by the time he was nothing but a bad example? But perhaps it was better to disappear into obscurity and infamy than to live on as a poster boy for something he could no longer fool himself into believing in. 

The lift was nearing the command bridge. He needed a plan. Ren was still on Pasaana, or making his way back, no doubt enraged by his loss of the scavenger. But Pryde was here. Anything he reported to the Allegiant General would be passed along verbatim to the Supreme Leader. He had to play his cards carefully if he wanted to live long enough to ensure the Resistance’s success. 

He had intentionally ordered the wookiee’s capture withheld from the official report so that the news of the mission’s single success would come from him. Pryde would have to report not just that the beast was captured, but that Hux had reported it so. By the same turn, he could reinforce to Pryde the fact that the girl, along with troops, TIE’s, and a transport had all been lost under Ren’s direct command. He couldn’t turn the Allegiant General against their Supreme Leader, but he could plant seeds of frustration. He had seen the unease in Pryde’s eyes at the Supreme Council meeting that morning. He had seen the realisation set in that he was as disposable as the rest of them now that Ren and Palpatine had met. Hux could use that. He could prey on the man’s fear, remind him what a blunt instrument Ren truly was. Pryde only had to express his irritation once for the Supreme Leader to snap and kill him. 

As the lift doors slid open, Hux cast one last glance at his own hard, determined face staring out from the holoposter and tried to remember how to be that man, at least outwardly. He steadied himself, composing his face, straightening his back. Everything was going to plan. His disruption of the shuttle schedules had bought him perhaps another cycle before the FOSB discovered his treason, and he didn’t need a day, just a few more hours - long enough to ensure the Final Order’s fleet never left Exegol. Most importantly of all, Poe Dameron was alive. He was alive and fighting and as long as that was true, Hux could be strong, could fight on too.

Bridge officers ignored the general as he strode across the walkway to Pryde. He might once have resented it - the way he was clearly not deemed important or frightening enough for attention - but now he understood that was his greatest advantage of all.

“I just spoke with the returning troops from Pasaana,” said Hux, clasping his hands behind his back as he fell into step with the older man. “We recovered the scavenger’s ship, but she got away.” 

He kept his tone cold, but laced it with just enough cloying obsequiousness to get under the Allegiant General’s skin. Here was useless, unthreatening, invisible General Hux giving him more bad news and trying to suck up while he was at it. Pryde would be annoyed, but not threatened. 

The older man said nothing, scowling ahead at the viewport and the vacuum beyond it.

“Under the command of the Knights of Ren, we suffered losses. Troops, TIE’s, a transport was destroyed-”

“I’ve seen the report,” Pryde snapped. “Is that all?” He was irritated at Hux, yes, but there was a deeper frustration there. 

Now Hux was ready to spring his trap, ingratiate himself with the Allegiant General and earn himself more time. In the past, he was accustomed to leave small details out of his reports. He had learned from a very young age that _how_ a piece of information was delivered was almost as important as what that information was. Good news delivered at the right time in the right way could be the difference between a safety and a slap across the face. Leaving such information in a report, to be read silently at a desk, left too much to chance. He had to see the other man’s reaction, to gauge it in real time. If he was going to be slapped or shouted at or shot, he wanted to see it coming, and if his play was a success, he wanted to know at once.

“There was another transport in the desert,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It brought back a valuable prisoner.”

There was a slight hitch in the Allegiant General’s stride, surprise flickering momentarily across his face before he repressed it again. “Prisoner?” There was no hiding the interest in his tone.

Hux lost the battle against his smirk. His trap had sprung, his plan had worked. “Come with me.”

It was a long walk through the bowels of the ship to the wookiee’s holding cell near the incineration hangar, but the two men set a brisk pace, Hux leading the way. He would keep his promise to the beast if he could - protest if Pryde opted to execute it immediately, perhaps engineer an opportunity for it to escape, but he wouldn’t blow his cover for a wookiee. He had hours left, he had to use them judiciously. 

The prospect of interrogating Han Solo’s travelling companion would mitigate some of Ren’s anger when he returned to the ship. It would stir conflict in him, remind him of his past and bog him down in his own mind, perhaps even cloud his visions of the girl. Hopefully that would give them enough time to find whatever Jedi artifact they were looking for that would guide them to Exegol. If the scavenger was all Poe said she was, all Ren seemed to fear she was, then that would be enough.

“Any news on our spy, General Hux?” Pryde asked as they turned down a black-floored hallway. He was trying to regain the upper hand in the situation, force Hux to admit another failing to undermine his little success. 

“I spoke with Colonel Garmuth of the security bureau,” he replied flatly, “he assured me they have a lead, and should have a suspect by the end of the cycle. It might have been easier if the last traitor had been allowed to live long enough to be interrogated.” Another jab at Ren to stir whatever frustrations the Allegiant General was harboring.

The older man humphed. “Leader Ren _was_ decisive in his execution of the mine operator. I suspect the internal traitor will not be so lucky. When the Supreme Leader discovers who is behind the leaks, I have no doubt he’ll make them beg for the mercy of a swift beheading.”

“Indeed.” Hux repressed a shudder as a chill ran up his spine. If Pryde was saying this to test him, he would get no satisfaction. “Here we are,” he said, relieved to change the subject as they approached the holding cell. He signalled to the trooper guarding the door that they were ready and strode forward to present his prize.

The door hissed open and the beast was revealed, letting out a guttural moan at the sight of the two officers. The wookiee’s breath was foul, but Hux met its gaze steadily, giving it the smallest of nods before turning to face Pryde again. 

“The beast used to fly with Han Solo,” he said, letting a little smugness into his voice. They both knew what this would mean to Ren when he returned.

Before Hux could bask in his moment of glory too long, the wookiee roared, blowing Hux’s hair out of place, and blasting him with more foul breath and saliva. Stars, the thing must live on rotten meat and bog water to smell so foul.

The barrage of stench seemed to have hit Pryde too, his face twisting with disgust as he ordered the trooper, “Have it sent to Interrogation Six.” His tone was dismissive but Hux knew better. The Allegiant General had just as much interest in this beast quelling Kylo Ren’s rage as Hux did.

He cast one last look at the wookiee as he fell into step behind Pryde. He couldn’t stop Ren from interrogating the beast. He needed that to happen, needed the Supreme Leader shaken and distracted by his past. When he was younger and more foolish, he had thought the fact that Ben Solo, the son of two of the most prominent members of the Rebellion, raised in comfort and privilege, surrounded, no doubt, by admiration and love, had still joined the First Order was proof that they were doing the right thing. Even Jedi and Rebels could see it. Soon everyone else would too. Now he understood the truth, that Ren was caught up in a greater evil, one which festered in the apathy of the New Republic and the single-mindedness of the Order, which was older and stronger than both those powers. Supreme Leader or not, Kylo Ren was a tool, just like Hux was, and even with all his strength in the Force, until he realized the truth, that was all he would ever be. Perhaps on some level he knew that. Perhaps that was why his past seemed to haunt him so.

Pryde’s comm chirped. It was Admiral Griss.

“Supreme Leader Ren has returned from Pasaana,” the man reported, the unsteadiness in his voice suggesting that Ren had arrived in bad spirits.

Pryde seemed to recognize that too. “Tell him we have a prisoner. The rebel wookiee will be waiting for him in Interrogation Six.”

“Yes sir, Allegiant General.” Relief in Griss’s tone. He would get to give Ren good news.

“I suspect the Supreme Leader will want some time alone with the beast,” said Pryde. In the meantime, I shall return to the bridge.”

“As will I,” said Hux, determined to stay close to Pryde for as long as he could. If he betrayed any other useful information Hux could slip away and pass it along to Poe. The man might not want to speak to him, but Hux could leave a message, and Poe wasn’t so stubborn as to ignore him completely. “Can I fetch you a warm beverage on the way?”

Pryde looked him over with snide distaste. “Tarine tea, two sweeteners.” He said.

Hux used his detour to the mess hall to check the messages on his datapad. There was a new one from Colonel Garmuth. INVESTIGATION DELAYED, the subject read. 

_Some fool on the Steadfast bungled the shuttle schedules. The inspection crew was halfway to Dantooine by the time we caught the mistake. Recalling them now. Should have them here for questioning by end of cycle_.

  * _Col. A. Garmuth_



So he hadn’t bought himself as much time as he’d hoped. It would have to be enough, he supposed. It wasn’t as if there was much he could do with the time he had left anyway. Part of him longed to call Poe, to make up, to leave things on a better note, but that was selfish. Leaving things on bad terms spared Poe the trouble of missing him too much, even if it tore Hux’s heart out. He had lived his whole life knowing he would die alone and unloved. Why did it hurt so badly now?

He held Pryde’s tea in both his gloved hands, letting the warmth seep through the leather to his fingers. _This isn’t about you wanting to die for anything,_ Poe had shouted the last time they spoke, _it’s about you being too afraid to live without the First Order now that you know it was wrong all along - too afraid to live through this - to live in a galaxy you don't control_ . He was half right. Hux was afraid to live in a galaxy without the First Order. He was afraid of the yawning pit of guilt that was already beginning to open in his stomach, afraid of being hated and hunted by those who rightfully wanted revenge on him for all he had done, but more than anything else he was afraid of being nothing at all. He had spent his life trying to rise above his circumstances, to be powerful, wanted, safe, to belong somewhere. He had nearly had it, or he thought he had. He had gotten rid of his father, had risen through the ranks. He was an indispensable part of the Order. But it was all hollow. It was crumbling down around him, and all he could do was cling to the pieces for as long as he could. If he outlived the Order, even if by some miracle the Resistance let him go free, he would have nothing. He would be nothing. Armitage Hux was nothing at all by himself. Just a weak-willed thing, thin as a slip of paper and just as useless. That was what he feared more than anything else. Yes, Hux was afraid to live in a galaxy he couldn’t control, but he _was_ still dying for something important. The future. One he could never live in, but knew beyond a doubt had to come to pass. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

Pryde was waiting for him on the bridge, once again studying the blackness of space beyond the viewport. He barely acknowledged Hux as he took his tea.

“Only eight more hours,” the Allegiant General mused, voice softer than usual, “and all these years of waiting will come to an end.”

“Indeed, sir.” Hux clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

“For decades I was the only member of First Order High Command the Emperor trusted to keep his secret, the only one judged worthy, faithful, unlike your father who couldn't be trusted to be loyal to his own wife, never mind the Emperor. I suppose Counselor Rax knew as well, but that traitor Sloane took him out of the equation…”

“Don't talk about Grand Admiral Sloane like that,” Hux hissed, his face flushing with anger. He could tolerate endless insults at his father’s expense, but not Sloane, the one other good person in this whole rotten Order. 

Pryde scoffed, small mouth turning up in a cruel smile. “Ah yes, I forgot you were her little pet when you were a boy. Apparently not such a good pet that she confided in you. Sloane was a traitor. She tried to compromise the Emperor's plans and had to be put down like the scum she was.”

“How dare you!” Hux was doomed anyway. Why not go out shouting? “How dare you slander her name like that! Rae Sloane was twice the leader you are, you-”

His voice broke off into a yelp as something struck him across the face. It was Pryde’s swagger stick. The older man held it as if poised to use it again. The whole bridge staff had stopped what they were doing to gawp at the scene. 

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Pryde commanded. “Remember your place. You're a disgrace to the Order, like your joke of a father before you. You're lucky you delivered me such good news today. I'm feeling generous. Next time you talk back to me, I'll spare the stick and use the blaster. Understand?” 

Hux was still in shock from being struck with the swagger stick, only able to nod silently as he raised a hand to his stinging cheek. He’d been choked and thrown and slammed into walls plenty of times in recent months, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had been slapped like that.

“Perhaps you've forgotten where you come from, Armitage,” Pryde said with a sneer, “but I haven't.”

Blood pounded in Hux’s ears, shame sinking like a gravity well in his stomach. The bridge crew were conspicuously struggling to ignore the scene. He felt stripped down - not just of his clothes, but of years. He was a boy again, being beaten on the floor of his father’s quarters while Pryde looked on with bemusement. He was nothing. He was small and helpless and alone. Anger welled up in the pit that shame had dug. He would have his revenge. It would be the last thing he did, but he would have it.

As Hux stood, seething and dumbstruck, Pryde checked something on a datapad. His smirk deepened.

“General Hux,” he said, “comm Admiral Griss, tell him to fetch the Supreme Leader. We’ll meet him on the hangar deck. I have important news.”

“Yes, sir, Allegiant General.” Hux bit out, mouth still humming with the sting of Pryde’s strike.

Even masked, Hux could tell Ren was practically frothing at the mouth when they met him on the hangar deck, intersecting in a hall adjacent to the interrogation cells. Whatever had happened between him and his father’s old copilot, it was having exactly the effect Hux had hoped for. 

“I want all the wookiee’s belongings brought to my quarters,” he barked. 

“Sir,” Pryde interjected, practically vibrating with whatever news he had been waiting to share. It was his turn now to use good news to shore up his position. 

“What?” By Ren’s tone, he was having none of it.

“The Knights of Ren have tracked the scavenger.” 

The Supreme Leader’s stride hitched, as did Hux’s heartbeat. No. The Resistance had to be better than this. They had to get away. That or he’d have to do something stupid and desperate and end his life even sooner than he had planned. 

“To a settlement called Kijimi,” Griss spoke up. 

So he and Pryde were both in on this. Only he had been left out of the loop. It was petty revenge, he suspected, for his keeping the wookiee’s capture a secret earlier.

“They’re searching there now.” Pryde added, almost gleefully.

Blast it all. Hux would have to do something. The girl needed to get away. Palpatine had to be defeated, Poe had to live. 

He heard his own voice leaving his mouth before he had a chance to think of a plan. “Shall we destroy the city, Supreme-”

But he never got to finish his half-formed thought. Ren stuck a gloved finger in his face, and he felt his voice die in his throat. 

“Set a course for Kijimi,” the Supreme Leader ordered, “I want her taken alive.” And with that Ren was gone, striding off alone as Hux, Pryde, and Griss stood in the hall like buoys out at sea.

“Well,” Pryde snapped, looking at Hux as if it was his fault Ren hadn’t been overjoyed at his news, “you heard the Supreme Leader, fetch the wookiee’s belongings and bring them to his chambers.”

“I’ll set a trooper to-”

“No.” The older man cut him off, “save the trouble and do it yourself.”

Hux thought of Pryde’s threat on the bridge. He wouldn’t die over this. “Yes sir,” he managed through clenched teeth. 

He slunk down the hall to the lab where all the recovered items from the Falcon were awaiting investigation and disposal. The two lab techs going over recovered items from the Falcon didn’t so much as glance up at him as he retrieved the wookiee’s bandolier and bowcaster from the evidence locker. He couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers over the weapon in awe. He remembered the state Ren had been in after being shot by this thing on Starkiller. He weighed the idea of using it to kill the Supreme Leader himself. Now that would be something... 

“Admiral Griss says most of this is trash but I don’t want to be on the wrong end of the Supreme Leader’s lightsaber if we’re wrong,” someone was saying.

Hux glanced over at where the two men were going through recovered tech from the ship. 

“What do you make of this thing?” One of them asked, holding up a small item.

“Just a comm. I think it’s safe to incinerate it.”

The first technician hummed skeptically, “looks like an encrypted closed circuit comm. Probably for more than just casual chatting. Wonder who has the other one. These things come in twos.”

Hux’s eyes widened as he realised too late what they were looking at. One of the techs looked up, meeting his wild, desperate stare just as the other hit a button on the side of the comm - Poe’s comm - playing what was obviously a saved message, throwing up a holo of a dressed down, half asleep, but very recognizable General Hux.

“I suppose I’ve called at a bad time,” the Hux in the holo said, “give me a comm when you can, I miss you Poe.”

There was a split second where Hux and the lab techs all stood frozen in their places, Hux halfway out of the evidence locker, the two techs at their desk, one still holding the incriminating comm. Then everything exploded into motion. One of the techs lunged for the communication terminal on the far wall, as the other grabbed a blaster from the mess of evidence on the table. Hux didn’t have time to think. He dropped everything he was holding but the bowcaster, and fired it. The weapon was huge and ungainly, and though its trigger mechanism was close enough to a blaster, he had no idea how to aim it. He shot off a bolt, the recoil throwing him bodily back into the evidence cage, just as a flash of blaster fire sailed past where his head had been. The bowcaster had missed the lunging man’s chest but hit him explosively in the shoulder, knocking him down with a howl of pain and as his comrade lined up another shot at the prone general. Adrenaline pounded in Hux’s veins as he forced aching muscles to pull him upright and fire the heavy weapon again, striking the armed tech in the face, splattering gore all over the wall behind him. This time the recoil had done something to his shoulder. He tested it gingerly and though the pain was severe, it didn’t feel broken or dislocated. 

His work wasn’t done yet, though. One of the techs was still alive, attempting to crawl towards the communication terminal. Hux lunged forward, stumbling across the room and half-tackling, half-falling on top of the other man, sending them both crumpling to the ground. Hux reached out desperately, groping for the blaster that had fallen beside the corpse of the other technician, gloved fingers scrabbling at the smooth metal.

“General Hux,” the man under him managed, looking up with terror and betrayal in his eyes as Hux leveled the weapon at him, “why?”

“I’m sorry,” said the general, and he meant it. He was sorry. He never meant his treason to cost so many lives besides his own. But he couldn’t be caught now. He had to live long enough to ensure the Resistance escaped Kijimi. “I’m sorry.” He repeated and fired.

By the time he had dragged the two corpses into the lab's incinerator, disposing of them along with the ruined lab coats he had used to wipe up as much of the carnage as he could, Hux was sore and winded, his uniform in disarray. This still wouldn’t be enough. There were security cams in this room, as in every other room on the _Steadfast_ , save his quarters where he had disabled them. Security footage was only reviewed if there was some reason to search through it, but once the two techs were reported missing, it would only be a matter of time. He had to slice into the security terminal and wipe the footage before it was too late. 

_Oh Poe,_ he thought, taking the little comm from the table and slipping it into his pocket, _even when you aren’t speaking to me you’re getting me into trouble_. He knew he should incinerate the comm along with the rest of the evidence, but he couldn’t bear to do it. He had already forced himself to make peace with never seeing Poe again, he couldn’t willingly part with this piece of him too. Poe had held this not twelve hours ago, making it the closest Hux was likely to come to the man he loved before he died.

He straightened up his uniform, relieved to have avoided any obvious blood stains on the black satin, and fixed his hair before switching on the incinerator and leaving the lab behind. He hailed the first stormtrooper he found and handed them the wookiee’s belongings. 

“Take these to the Supreme Leader’s quarters at once,” he ordered, handing over the bandolier, bag, and still-warm bowcaster.

“Yes sir, general Hux,” the trooper nodded and set off.

The nearest security terminal was two levels up. His limbs were sore and stiff after the bowcaster’s recoil and the effort of disposing of the bodies, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he thought the whole ship must be able to hear it and sense his treason, but no one stopped him. No one so much as glanced his way. He was as unremarkable and unsuspicious as the shiny black floor of the ship. 

The security office was empty, as he had expected it would be, the door unlocking and hissing open for the transponders in his rank stripes. That was more evidence that could expose him down the line, but he didn’t need to erase every trace, just to obfuscate it enough to buy him time. He locked the office door behind him and settled into the seat before the terminal. Sure enough, there was the incriminating footage - the holo appearing from Poe’s comm, Hux shooting the two techs. His stomach turned at the sight. It was one thing to reconcile himself to commit treason; it was another entirely to see it play out - to see himself killing his own men, desperate as a trapped animal.

He erased the footage, along with all the other security recordings for that floor for the last hour. That should buy him at least a little more time. Enough to figure out a way to slow down the First Order’s search of Kijimi and give Poe and his comrades a chance to escape. Perhaps he should release the wookiee, let it wreak some havoc and maybe even get off the ship, or go a step further and rig the whole blasted Steadfast to explode with him and Pryde on it. He could do it, bypass alerts so that there was no warning until the whole thing went up. Perhaps that was what it would take. At least he would go out in a blaze of glory. By the time anyone knew he’d turned traitor, he would be stardust. Perhaps he should…

Something caught his eye as the security footage reverted to a live feed. What looked like a firefight - troopers in a shootout in the very halls of the Steadfast, cornering the wookiee along with two human men - the former trooper turned traitor and - it couldn’t be - no - he knew that tousled head of dark curls. Poe. He no longer had to worry about buying the Resistance time to escape Kijimi. They had escaped the frying pan and flown straight into the fire. But if Poe and the other one - Finn - were here, where was the girl? 

“Poe, you blasted fool,” he murmured, watching as the rebels blasted their way through the halls. Whatever his plans for his final hours might have been, he’d have to scrap them now. He wouldn’t let Poe die here, along with his last hope of saving the galaxy. He had to intervene - stop the firefight before it reached its inevitable conclusion. But how? He didn’t even have his side arm on him. Even if he did, it wasn’t as if he’d bring much to a head on fight. Eventually they would still be overcome. No, he had to stop the fight another way and then secret them off the ship. 

He fumbled with shaking hands in the pockets of his jodhpurs, finding his work comm and setting it to the general channel. “All units,” he said, forcing his voice to remain flat and calm as he watched the fight play out on the monitor, “rebel scum have infiltrated the ship at the interrogation level. Engage with caution. They are to be taken alive at all costs. Repeat, do not shoot to kill, they must be taken alive.”

Hux watched as more troopers moved in on the location. Poe, Finn, and the wookiee rounded a corner and nearly collided with a squad of them. The security feed was suddenly filled with the red light of blaster fire. The troopers might not be shooting to kill, but they were certainly shooting to wound and badly. When the smoke cleared Hux’s heart dropped. Poe was crumpled on the ground, Finn kneeling beside him. He had been hit in the arm. Even with the distance and the poor quality of the security feed, he could see that it was a nasty wound. But he was alive. As the troopers surrounded the three rebels, Poe looked up defiantly, and though the feed had no audio, Hux could imagine he was saying something clever and quippy, trying to play off the situation as if he wasn’t even bothered. At last the Resistance fighters surrendered, submitting to be led away at blaster point by the troopers. 

“The rebels have been apprehended,” the squad leader’s voice came in over the comm, “we’re holding them in the hangar reception bay to await further instructions.” 

Hux’s whole body folded in on itself, his muscles relaxing as he sighed his relief. Poe and his friends were safe for now. Even as everything seemed to be unravelling, Hux’s end rushing up to meet him faster than he expected, not all was lost. Once the Resistance fighters were safely imprisoned, he could orchestrate their escape. He could shut down the impeders, freeing the Falcon from the incineration hangar, and sabotage the Steadfast’s sensors to give them time to make the jump to hyperspace. It would only be a matter of time then before his cover was blown. Perhaps he could tempt Ren into interrogating him himself, waste as much of his time as he could before the inevitable…

“Take them to the detention center,” Pryde’s voice came in over the comm, “General Hux, Admiral Griss, and I will meet you there shortly.”

“Acknowledged,” the squad leader replied.

Hux composed himself before stepping back out of the security office and making for the lift.

He encountered Pryde and Griss in the hall on the way to the detention center, falling into step beside the admiral, flanking Pryde on either side. 

“Where were you, General?” The Allegiant General asked, glaring at Hux from beneath raised eyebrows.

“Apologies sir, I was delivering the wookiee’s belongings to the Supreme Leader’s quarters as you ordered when I got the news of the incursion.”

“And you ordered them taken alive.” Pryde’s tone was inscrutable. 

“Yes sir, I thought it best to keep them alive for the Supreme Leader or the FOSB to interrogate them, they are all high-value targets.”

“It was unnecessary.” The older man snapped. “Unless the scavenger is with them, they are of no use. There are new orders. Detention and interrogation are no longer priorities. All rebels and traitors are to be summarily executed.”

“I see.” Hux swallowed hard. That certainly complicated things. 

They reached the detention level at the same time as the prisoners and their guards, Poe putting up a show of resisting as he was pushed roughly through the double doors. Up close, his arm looked even worse. He needed medical attention, and soon. Still he was there, really there, breathing the same air as Hux for the first time since they parted on Barison. The two men locked eyes for a fraction of a second, Hux’s mouth twitching as emotion suddenly rose up in his throat. I’ll save you, he tried to reassure the other man with a look, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll save you. 

“The girl’s not with them,” blurted out the squad leader, redundantly gesturing with his blaster. 

Pryde looked the three prisoners over with disinterest. “Take them away,” he said, “terminate them.”

Hux pulled himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest, trying not to let his voice betray the maelstrom of emotion raging in his gut as he said, “I’ll oversee the execution, Allegiant General.”

“If you like.” Pryde sounded supremely bored. “Join me on the bridge when it's finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux followed along behind the three troopers that made up the firing squad as they led Poe, Finn, and the wookiee to an execution chamber. Hux had designed the chambers himself to be as clean and efficient as possible. Once the prisoners were shot, the troopers would leave and the jets on the side walls would begin emitting heat and corrosive gas to break down the bodies. Flesh, clothing, and metal alike would be reduced to nothing but atoms, and those would be flushed out into the vacuum. He had no doubt he would be occupying such a chamber soon himself, broken down into atoms, purposeless and free.

The three rebels were forced into a tight line, a trooper behind each of them, ready to fire. They were waiting for Hux’s order.

“Actually,” the General said, the next steps of his plan taking shape in his mind as he stepped forward, “I’d like to do this one myself.”

He hefted the blaster rifle, hearing it click as it accepted his identiprint. 

“What were you gonna tell Rey before?” Poe was asking in a hushed tone. “In the tunnels.” He was either very confident that Hux was going to save him, or very determined to play it cool until the bitter end. Either one would be infuriatingly in character for Poe.

“You still on that?” The other one, Finn, hissed back, clearly not on the same page.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” 

The wookiee grumbled.

Hux raised the blaster, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might be sick. There was no conflict inside him. He knew exactly what he had to do, but it didn’t stop the fear.

“It sort of _is_ a bad time, Poe-”

The blaster whirred as it charged itself to full power.

“‘Cause later doesn’t really look like an option.”

Hux fired once, twice, again, dropping each of the troopers in the firing squad with quick precision. As the tip of the gun smoked, the three rebels stayed hunched over a moment, as if still trying to process the fact that they weren’t dead. At last they turned to see Hux standing over the evidence of his treason. Poe’s eyes lit up with warmth and gratitude as his companions gawped at the absurdity of it all.

“I’m the spy.” Hux declared, as much to himself as to them. He _was_ the spy. This was his doing and he was not ashamed, he wasn’t sorry.

“What?” Poe exclaimed, ridiculously overacting his shock as if he didn’t really care one way or the other if his friends believed this came as a surprise. He was grinning ear to ear - brilliant and heartbreaking and perfect, as if their last awful conversation had never happened.

“You?” Finn looked absolutely flabbergasted, understandably struggling to comprehend how the man who was behind so much of his suffering could have turned spy.

Hux wanted badly to smile with Poe, to hold him, to celebrate with a kiss, but it wouldn’t be long before Pryde realized something was amiss. 

“We don’t have much time,” he said, willing his voice not to break.

“I knew it!” Said Poe, still insisting on playing up his relief, as if he thought he could charm Hux off the _Steadfast_. It might have worked, even then, if it weren’t already impossible.

“You did not.” Finn rolled his eyes.

“Please take this seriously,” Hux urged them, unfastening their binders, “time is running out. The _Millenium Falcon_ is being kept in the incineration hangar. I can take you to it, buy you enough time to get out and make the jump to hyperspace, but we need to hurry. Where’s the girl?”

“Why would we tell you that?” Finn snapped, still not trusting that Hux was really on their side, even as he led them out of the execution chamber, switching it on as they left to erase the evidence of his treason.

“She’s in Kylo Ren’s quarters. There’s a dagger - it’ll tell us where to find a map to Exegol. It was with Chewie’s stuff.”

Hux swore under his breath. If only he had known. He had held the wookiee’s bag in his arms not an hour ago, and then he had sent the key to everything right into the Supreme Leader’s hands. “We don’t have time to wait for her to get back. You three need to get clear of the _Steadfast_. I’ll do what I can to ensure she gets out.”

“Rey can handle herself.” Finn said defiantly. 

No one stopped to question them as they made their way down towards the incineration hangar. It seemed Hux’s unimportance was contagious.

“Thank you,” Poe whispered, falling into step beside Hux, “I know you’re putting yourself in more danger helping us.”

“It is what it is,” said Hux, voice tight against the urge to say more. But they were being watched, and revealing the true nature of their relationship, even to Poe’s friends, was unnecessarily messy. Still… “I found this,” he said, producing Poe’s comm from his pocket. “Blasted thing nearly got me killed.”

Poe took it and held it tight to his chest for a moment before tucking it away. “I know what you’re going to say,” he murmured, “but I’ve gotta try one more time. Come with us, please. Let me save you, like you just saved me.”

Hux met Poe’s dark eyes, pulled into their warm, desperate depths. It was clear the other man was fighting his own bloody war against his emotions. He was a practical man. He understood, though he hated it, that Hux’s sacrifice was necessary. If there was a time where it could have been prevented, it was long past now. The fate of the galaxy was more important than the strongest of personal ties.

Hux’s eyes drifted from Poe’s face to the wound in his arm - less gruesome by far than the one in his heart but still in bad shape.

“Your arm…” he fought the urge to touch it, to kiss the pain away.

“It’ll heal.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn cut in from behind them, “am I missing something? Do you two know each other?”  
“No.” Said Hux.

“Yes.” Said Poe at the same moment.

They stepped into a crew lift, forcing them all into close quarters and filling Hux’s mouth and nose with the stench of the wookiee.

“It’s complicated,” Poe conceded.

“Complicated like that lady on Kijimi?” Finn demanded, “you got any other ‘complicated’ relationships I should know about?”

“Oh, there was a lady on Kijimi?” Hux raised an eyebrow, an utterly frivolous stab of jealousy momentarily distracting him from the grim task at hand.

“Zorii?” Poe looked over at Finn, irritation softening into realisation in his eyes. “She’s an old friend. That’s all. Besides, I don’t really think now’s a great time for this.”

He was right, of course, these were their last moments together. Hux wouldn’t waste them being petty. The lift doors hissed open and the whole mismatched lot of them hurried out into the hall. Just as Hux made to lead the way, he felt a hand on his shoulder staying him.

Poe was looking at him with eyes as dark and full of promise as space itself - just as desolate, too.

“I’m serious, Armitage. I know this has to happen but first I- I have to tell you-”

“Friends!” A mechanical voice called from down the hall behind them.

Three droids were hurrying towards them. One of them, Poe’s little BB unit, he knew, but the other two were new - a little cone-headed thing and an antique-looking protocol droid draped in the wookiee’s gear. If the droid had the gear, then they had just been with the girl. If she was lingering behind, it could only mean that something had come up that she had chosen to face head on. He knew what that was. 

“Ren,” he breathed, “he must be back,” he moved forward, rushing them all towards the door, “you all need to get out of here, now. I’ll shut down the impeders, then you’ll have seconds.”

“There she is,” Poe said, glancing through the viewports at the _Falcon_ , “she’s a survivor.” He couldn’t seem to bear to meet Hux’s eyes as he mouthed _goodbye_ and hurried through the hangar doors. Hux tried to get one last good look at him, to memorize him like an equation that he could cling on to as everything else stopped making sense, but there wasn’t enough time. There never would be.

“Wait,” he said, stopping Finn before he too disappeared. “Wait. Blast me in the arm, quick.”

If he wanted to have time to shut down the impeders and keep the Order busy while the Falcon jumped to hyperspeed he would need this to be convincing. 

Finn’s face twisted in shock. “What?”

“Or they’ll know.” Hux was pleading with him. He couldn’t ask Poe to shoot him. It was too cruel. It had to be Finn.

The other man’s face hardened. “I could kill you,” he said. 

He would be within his rights to do it. Hux had stolen his life away - made him fight for the same hollow cause he had been fooled into believing in. He had thought it was the merciful thing to do, but that hardly mattered. Yes, Finn would be justified in killing Hux then and there, but it wasn’t the smart choice.

“You need me.” Hux insisted.

A momentary pause as Finn mulled it over, and then his blaster pistol flashed. He hadn’t aimed for Hux’s arm. He struck him in the thigh, burning through his trouser leg and leaving the flesh beneath charred and bleeding. Hux couldn’t suppress the cry that rose from his throat as he collapsed backwards, his vision whiting out with the pain.

“Why are you helping us?” Finn demanded from somewhere above him.

 _Because I could. Because it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only thing I could do to even begin to repair the damage I’ve done to the galaxy. Because I love Poe Dameron, and I would die for him a thousand times over if it meant he was safe._ But he settled for a half-truth, one which was much less complicated than reality. Let Finn and the rest of them keep thinking he was nothing but an evil, traitorous coward. It was less messy that way.

“I don’t care if you win,” Hux bit out, “I want Kylo Ren to lose.” And with that, he began the arduous process of picking himself back up off the ground. 

“Wait, fuck!” A voice from back within the hangar. “Let me help you.” Poe. Blast it all.

Before he had a chance to react, he felt Poe’s hand on his shoulder, easing him to his feet, supporting his weight to relieve his injured leg.

“Poe?” Hux managed through gritted teeth. He couldn’t send the other man off again. He couldn’t bear it. “You need to go. I told you-”

“I know. I know. I’m not gonna try and force you to come with me. I wish I could, but you’re right. It’s your choice. And it’s… it’s the right one. You’re a brave man, Armitage, one of the bravest I’ve ever met. You saved me today, saved the whole galaxy. The Resistance has a chance to fight back - to win because of what you did.” He stood directly opposite Hux now, gripping his shoulders gently but firmly. “I’ll let you do what you’ve got to do, but I couldn’t leave things like they were.”

Hux’s relief tore out of him as a choked laugh. He told himself the tears in his eyes were an involuntary response to the pain of being shot. 

“What I said on the comm before I - I just couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle knowing I was going to lose you - that I couldn’t save you. Thought it would be easier to just push you away, convince myself I didn’t—” He was rambling now, words tumbling from his lips, as if desperate to get out while they still could, before it was too late. “I’ve lost too many people I love already - and you - shit, Armitage, I love you.” He laughed ruefully and shook his head, a curl of dark hair falling into his sweaty face. “I love you. I don’t know why I couldn’t figure out how to say it sooner. I guess I just thought we’d have more time or-”

“I love you too,” Hux blurted out, his heart soaring into his throat, banishing the pain of his leg and filling him with joy until he thought his chest might burst with it, “oh, Poe, I love you too.” He had never said the words I love you out loud to anyone before in all his thirty-five years, or had them said to him. His brain lagged like a slow computer trying to process it.

He’d begun to believe that just feeling love was the most wonderful thing in the world. For all the pain it caused him, for all he was sure it was unreciprocated, he’d never felt such warmth before. He could have died happy having loved Poe Dameron in silence, but to speak it, to name his love and make it real - to know it didn’t exist in a vacuum, it was reciprocated - it was as if he had lived his whole life underwater, half-drowned, and for the very first time his head had broken the surface. He was falling and flying and the wind rushed past him, stealing his breath in the sweetest way. He understood at last what Poe had meant back on that ice planet when he’d said there was so much beauty in the galaxy that Hux couldn’t see. He saw it now. 

“Poe!” Finn called from the ship, “what’re you doing? We need to get out of here, now!”

“One second!” Poe insisted, gripping Hux’s arms tighter.

“He’s right, you need to go. The impeders-”

He needed Poe to leave before he broke completely, before the full realization of what he was losing hit him, before he tried to hold on to what he knew he could not. 

“I know, I know, but-” he paused, seeming to choke on the enormity of all the things he’d never have time to say. He let go of Hux’s arm with one hand, fumbling with something beneath his shirt collar. 

With shaking hands, Poe removed the silver ring from around his neck and held it out.

“Take it,” he insisted, “take it, please. It would have been yours anyways. There’s no one else, there’s-” his voice cracked on the effort of speaking.

Before this moment Hux might have been able to keep holding onto the idea that Poe might like him - might be attracted to him - but had only ever deluded himself into thinking he loved him - but this - it forced the realisation on him, crushed him under its weight. Poe did love him. He wasn’t just breaking his own heart. Stranger still, against everything he knew to be true, he had been worthy of love. He had been loved. Was loved. For all his faults and his crimes, someone as good and as special as Poe Dameron loved him, and now he had to give that up. 

Hux took Poe’s outstretched hand in both of his and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the ring. It was still warm from resting on the man’s chest. It smelled like him - like sweat and durasteel and mechanic’s grease. He felt his throat closing in on itself, as tight as it had ever been under the influence of the Force. He inhaled deeply as he folded Poe’s fingers shut again, pressing his hand into a closed fist.

“No,” he said, “Poe, I can’t.”

“You can. I’m giving it to you. I love you, Armitage, and if you have to- you have to do this, and I can’t go with you, you’ve gotta let me do this much. Let me be with you like this at least.” Poe was pleading now.

“No.” Hux repeated. “No. Keep it. You need it now, more than ever. It’s like you told me on Barison - what it represents to you - there is love, even in the midst of war. We found it. We have it. Keep it and remember that. When I’m… when I’m gone, remember that.” He lowered his lips in another kiss to Poe’s closed hand before pressing it against his chest. “You’ll be with me, anyway. I couldn’t get rid of you if I wanted to.” 

A harsh sound tumbled past Poe’s lips, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but he didn’t argue. “Fine,” he said, closing his fist tighter around the ring. 

“Poe!” Fin called again from the ship, more urgent than before. 

“I’m coming!” The other man insisted before turning back to Hux. “I do have to go. But first,” he paused, a hint of that old mischievous glint in his eyes, “you still owe me a kiss.”

Hux chuckled through the tears fighting to push past his eyes as he pulled the other man closer and leaned down to kiss him. Poe’s breaths were short and hot, his lips dry. He kissed Hux like he was trying to commit every corner of his mouth to touch memory, or to say goodbye to every part of it. Hux gripped the man’s shirt desperately, feeling the muscles of his back work beneath the thin fabric. He could feel Poe’s heart pounding through his chest, reverberating with his own. 

At last, Poe broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away at once. He smiled, lips pulled tight and closed against Hux’s own.

“We had a good run, didn’t we Hugs,” he whispered, gloved hands coming up to caress Hux’s face, tracing the ridges and hollows of his cheeks, the lines at the corners of his mouth, the shape of his jaw, hardened against the urge to cry. “Stars, it could have been something incredible if we’d had more time.”

“It was incredible.” Hux assured him, letting go of his shirt and forcing himself to stand on his own weight again, wincing through the pain. “Now go, you incredible man. The galaxy needs you.”

“I-” the other man faltered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “Goodbye, Armitage.”

“Goodbye, Poe,” said Hux and then, if only to hear himself say it one last time, “I love you.”

Poe’s lips twisted, eventually finding their way to something like a smile. He turned to go, making for the entrance to the ship where his two comrades stood gawping at them. He heard Finn start to demand that Poe explain what in all the Sith hells he just saw, before they were lost to earshot. The last aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ was Poe Dameron’s little round astromech droid. The way it seemed to look at Hux made him think Poe had never wiped its memory after the ice planet. After the briefest of pauses, it extended its small metal arm in what was unmistakably a salute, before rolling away so the Falcon could depart.

Hux limped to the impeders, freeing the ship. He watched them go, shooting off into the vacuum, carrying the hopes of the galaxy with them. 

“General Hux, come in!” Pryde’s voice crackled over his comm, “Where are you? The girl’s escaped on the rebel’s ship! Report to the bridge at once!”

“There was an incident,” Hux said, letting his voice betray the agony of his leg, “an attack. I’ll be there directly, sir. As soon as I can.”

But Hux didn't go to Pryde directly. He went back to his quarters to bandage his leg. As he worked he recorded a final message on his comm. He would never have time to say everything he wanted to say to Poe, but he could say a little more. To his credit, he didn’t cry once during it, though he came close. 

When that was done and the message sent, Hux wiped his computer’s hard drive and gathered all his precious items and tossed them down his garbage chute to the incinerator. Down went the Parnassos beetle husk, the Chiss credit, the stone from the shore of Arkanis, Rae Sloane’s rank tiles, and last of all, his comm. When they searched his quarters for evidence after his death, they would find them clean, orderly, and free of secrets or sentimentality. All that was human about General Hux, all that hinted at his past, would die with him. 

He looked back over the suite of rooms one last time before leaving, supporting himself with the black cane Lieutenant Mitaka had packed him for Barison what seemed like a lifetime ago. This place had never felt like a home. Nothing had in a very long time, save, perhaps, Poe Dameron’s embrace. How many nights had he laid awake in that bed, staring into the blackness of the dark room, feeling the weight of the galaxy crushing down on him? He had lived with so much guilt, so much fear, so much hatred for so long that their aches and pains had come to feel natural except for those times in the dead of night where it all snuck up on him at once. If there was a silver lining to all this, it was that he would have no more sleepless nights. That was good. He was so tired.

No one so much as glanced at him, limping his way down the halls to the bridge. He gripped the handle of the cane so tight his hand buzzed. Hux might have made up his mind to die - it might be the most strategic choice, but it still terrified him. He felt the void where his future had once been like a phantom limb. He had wanted so much for himself - wanted the stars - and yet he’d never once caught hold of any of the things he had been reaching for. Not safety, not power, not vengeance. He had left a legacy of death and destruction and suffering and had never managed to make it into something better. Worst of all, with Poe he had caught a glimpse of something terrible in its beauty and its impossibility - a chance, a shadow of a life he could have had with a man he loved, who loved him. A life not spent doggedly climbing toward some pretty mirage. It was a life he was too far gone to take by the time it was offered. He thought, not for the first time, that his life had all been some morbid countdown to this moment. It hadn’t had to be. He had dug his own grave with every choice he had made, some of them right and necessary, others unjustifiably evil. The final shovel-full had been the choice not to let Poe save him. He wasn’t sure if that one had been necessary or not. It hardly mattered now.

The doors of the bridge hissed open and Pryde was waiting for him. 

“What took you so long?” The older man’s tone was cool, betraying nothing.

“I had to tend to my injuries, sir.”

Pryde scoffed at the wound, already bleeding through Hux’s shoddy bandaging. “This was an unmitigated disaster. A security breach in the evidence lab, the prisoner’s escape on their ship, not to mention the girl…”

Hux said nothing. His heart was pounding in his ears. He had considered bringing his sidearm with him to the bridge, trying to get a shot off at Pryde, taking the old bastard down with him, but it was no use. He was so tired of fighting. 

“But what I truly do not understand is how they managed it all, how they found the incineration hangar and managed to turn off the impeders, something which had to be done from inside the _Steadfast_ as their ship left...”

“It was a coordinated incursion, Allegiant General,” said Hux, a pitiful excuse. “They overpowered the guards and forced me to take them to their ship.”

“I see.” Something clicked into place behind Pryde’s eyes.

Hux forced himself to remain stoic and calm. He would face this with dignity. He had done what he could. At least it would be quick, he might be dead before he hit the ground.

“Get me the Supreme Leader,” the allegiant general said cooly, taking the blaster rifle from the stormtrooper beside him and shooting Hux point blank in the chest, all in one smooth motion.

The galaxy exploded into a billion bright, agonizing pieces.

Hux was not dead before he hit the ground. He felt his body reacting in involuntary spasms to the pain - to the last desperate firing of his synapses. His mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to pull air into lungs that suddenly didn’t remember how to work. They only held fire now, and every aborted attempt at breath sent more searing flames shooting through him. The overhead lights of the _Steadfast’s_ bridge felt impossibly bright, pulsating in time with his frantic, straining heartbeat, consuming everything until there was only light and pain and terror.

From a million miles away he heard Pryde’s voice, a smirk in his tone “ _Tell him we found our spy_.”

As he felt his consciousness fraying at the edges he tried to hold on to what he could - his hatred, his fear. Pryde had won in the end - he had proven Hux to be weak - to be unworthy - a kitchen woman’s bastard playing at being a general. He had gotten the last word - had called Hux the last thing he would ever be called - _spy_ . _Spy_ echoed with every other name - _bastard_ , _failure_ , _weak-willed_ \- it echoed with his father’s disgust and Snoke’s condescension and Kylo Ren’s hatred. All those years of fighting to survive, to prove himself, had come to nothing. It was all for nothing. He was dying disgraced, alone and humiliated as he had ever been, and Pryde and Kylo Ren - the real traitors - were going to win - there was no stopping them now, not with Palpatine, not with their new fleet. The Resistance couldn’t possibly overcome all that. They were all doomed. He had been a fool to hope… 

But it was hard work holding on to fear and hatred, and at last he lost his grip on it. 

The light above him was so bright…

He thought of those who had gone before him - the uncountable number he’d killed - the ones who had been taken - Archex, Phasma, Opan, Mitaka, Rae Sloane… 

Sloane… 

He had done his best - he had tried to do right by her - it had killed him in the end, just like it had killed her, but he had tried.

 _You’ll go far._ She had told him - _I know you will. I’m proud of you._

Armitage tried to hold on to those words… to the memory of her face that last time they had seen each other, but even that ran through his grasp like water through his fingers.

The last vestiges of his consciousness turned towards those who remained. The Resistance would fight on with the information he had fed them. Others would join them. The girl - the scavenger who had fought Kylo Ren and survived so many times - would finally defeat him once and for all. The galaxy would survive and Kylo Ren and Pryde and the rest of this whole, rotten regime would fall. The wounds he had inflicted on the galaxy would scar over and heal. New life would sprout from the ashes. It was just as Poe Dameron had said all that time ago -

_You can’t beat the galaxy into submission - not in a way that matters or lasts._

Hope and beauty could never truly be stamped out - it would prevail in the end, and he had done what he could to aid its cause. That felt good.

Poe had been right about that. He had been right about a lot of things.

Poe… 

He was beginning to feel cold… so cold… like the ice planet where this had all begun, where they first kissed...

And even despite the coldness, the thought of the other man washed warm over him, like the little waves on Barison, like his rough, gentle hands, even as his mind tried and failed to hold on to the image of his face… the sound of his voice... Poe had _seen_ Armitage, as no one else ever had - as a human being, as something other than a lost cause. He had shown him all the beautiful things that made the future worth fighting for - worth dying for. Poe had loved him - been the first person who had ever loved him. And he had loved Poe too, with all his heart. He had known love before the end - powerful, and luminous, and tender. He had known real happiness with Poe, if only briefly. 

It hadn’t all been bad. 

His thoughts were losing shape - bleeding into the brilliant white light. 

Somewhere along the way, the pain had faded out.

And at last, for the first time in his life, Armitage Hux stopped looking for something to hold on to - stopped trying to climb - 

he wasn’t afraid -

he let go 

___

**EPILOGUE**

Ajan Kloss, Twelve Hours After 

General Poe Dameron was almost glad for the terror and urgency of the battle over Exegol. He hardly had time to think about Armitage. He had barely noticed that last message come in on the comm as he rushed into the fight. In the back of his mind he knew the truth - Hux was dead - but he was able to push it out of his head - to focus on his own survival. He didn’t have time to wonder when or how or if he was alone when it happened, or in pain. Then the relief of victory washed over him, and he was almost ashamed to admit to himself he didn’t think of Hux at all, not when the living were right there in front of him - hugging him, congratulating him on a war well won.

It wasn’t long before that soured - before the presence of the living started to feel like a mockery of the absence of the dead. Leia should be here, so should Armitage. He wanted to see what the other man would look like with the weight of war lifted off his shoulders for what would probably have been the first time in his life. Armitage smiled little in the time they’d been together, and when he had, the expression had sat awkwardly, almost tentatively on his lips, like he was testing it out of the first time, unsure if it would hurt. Poe imagined Armitage might have smiled genuinely now. He would have smirked and chuckled at Poe’s new rank. _General_ , would have said, _I suppose they’re just giving ranks out willy-nilly_ now aren’t they _?_ But beneath the sarcasm, he would have been happy for him. 

His hands found the ring against his chest, running his fingers over it as if some part of Armitage might still linger there after he had kissed it. _There is love, even in the midst of war_ , Armitage had said in the hangar bay, _we found it. We have it. Keep it and remember that. When I’m gone, remember that._ He would. He did.

Then there were briefings, and reports began to come in on the scope of their victory - of the losses on both sides - and with those, the thoughts of Hux became unavoidable, especially thoughts of his end. There had been no body to recover from the _Steadfast_ . He was atoms now, stardust. Part of Poe was glad for that, as he was glad he was systems away when it happened, but another part of him ached for the closure of the man he loved dying in his arms, of seeing him off into whatever oblivion was next, of making sure Armitage didn’t die alone. What he wouldn’t give to be the last face the other man saw, to send him off with _I love you and I’m with you_. Even just to see his body - to hold the empty physical form, to have something, anything tangible to anchor him. He was alone in the vacuum of his grief, grasping at memories and shadow.

The report only spared a single word for what Hux had done for the Resistance. HUX, ARMITAGE, it read, (SPY); KIA. There was no mention of what intel he had given the Resistance, how he had likely saved them all. Poe wanted to be sick right there in the meeting room, or to cry, but he kept it together through the briefing, avoiding Finn’s eye in particular, knowing his friend had a knack for sensing when he was upset. 

It was only later, as the sun set on Ajan Kloss, that he was able to remove himself from his comrades and find a quiet place to watch that last message waiting for him on the comm. He sat in the cockpit of his X-Wing, in the base’s makeshift hangar, and switched it on. Armitage appeared before him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He was sitting on his desk chair, bandaging the blaster wound in his thigh as he spoke. Poe was forever grateful that Hux had asked Finn to shoot him. He would never have been able to do it. The man’s face looked as strained and tired as it had when they had parted ways, a lock of his usually carefully gelled hair falling into his eyes, but his voice was shockingly calm, as if he had already accepted his fate. 

“Hello Poe,” he began with the hollow ghost of a smile.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time - certainly not enough to say everything I’d like. Still, I’d like to try - to try to say a few things I can’t live without - or I suppose die without saying. I’m glad we were able to have our goodbye, but you know me, I always have to have the last word.

“For the longest time I thought nothing I did would matter unless it was remembered forever - unless I was a hero. But I suppose that ship has taken off. It’s alright. I’ve made my peace with that, as much as anyone can make peace with something like that. If history remembers me, it won’t be fondly. But I… I think I can bear that. It’s nothing I don’t deserve. In the end, I think it’s enough just to be remembered well and honestly by one person. You saw me, Poe. You knew me, better than anyone ever did. You know the truth of what I did in the end, and why. And that’s enough, I think. That makes it matter. It wasn’t all for nothing. And I’m… I’m so grateful for that. 

“I wish I’d told you that more - how grateful I am for what you’ve done - what you helped me do. Just like I wish I’d known sooner how to tell you that I love you. I loved you for a long time, I just… couldn’t find the words for it. How can you name something that’s so utterly new to you? I had never loved before, and certainly never been loved. I never could have believed that someone like you - someone so good, so whole, could love me. But you did, and I - you were the best thing that ever happened to me, Poe. Maybe the only good thing. I always thought I was nothing but what I could do - how I could be of use to people, what they thought of me. You made me see, for the first time in my life, that I was something. I was real, I meant something, whether or not I meant anything to anyone else. Just like every other sentient life. 

“You told me once that to save the galaxy, one must fight for what makes it good. I never could see it, until you showed it to me - the good, the beauty, the love. In the end, I did my best to fight for it. Please believe me that I did.

“Now, win this war, Poe Dameron, and take care for what comes next, because winning the war won’t end what caused it. I know you’ll do right by the galaxy and I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it. You’re right, I am too much of a coward to live with what I’ve done, to live in a galaxy free from the cruelty I helped spread. And I’m… sorry for that. More than I can say. I hope someday you can forgive me, void knows I can’t forgive myself. 

“I have to go now. Allegiant General Pryde will be waiting for me. Goodbye - I love you - and… thank you... for everything.”

The tears started when Armitage said I love you the first time. The other man’s expression softened, his lips tugging up at the corners in what was almost a smile, and it broke Poe. He broke quietly - he didn’t scream or shout or sob - only gritted his teeth and shook as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. 

As the message cut out, Poe could do nothing but sit in the silence that Armitage had left behind. Knowing the general, he had half-expected the man’s last words to be something about vengeance - about killing Pryde, or Kylo Ren, making them pay for killing him. But his voice was gentle, and there was no malice in his words. Poe could have handled Hux being vengeful, but this - these last words - goodbye - I love you - thank you - were more than he could bear. The look in his tired eyes - the genuine, undeniable love there.

He thought of all the times he hadn’t told Hux he loved him - feeling the weight of them crushing him. The words had been on the tip of his tongue when they had patched things up over the comm all those weeks ago after the ice planet. He had nearly said it a few times on Barison - when they walked along the beach, or lying in bed that night, Armitage resting against his chest, his pale skin catching the glow from the sea outside, or the morning after, before the other man boarded his transport. He had practically blurted it out during that last big fight but had stopped himself - he hadn’t wanted to say it in anger - if only he’d understood that his time was running out. Part of him wondered, despite himself, if things would have been different if he’d said it sooner - if he’d been honest from the beginning, would Armitage be here now?

There was a tap on the side of his ship, making Poe’s heart almost jump out of his throat. Finn was standing on the step ladder outside, looking up into the X-Wing. With a sigh, Poe released the top of his ship, and leaned over the edge to look at his friend.

“Hey, Poe,” Finn’s voice was gentle without being condescending. 

“Sorry,” he said, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious on his face that he had been crying, “what’s up? You should be out there celebrating with the rest of them.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Finn asked, cutting straight to the point. 

Sometimes Poe wondered if the man had the Force. There was no getting anything past him.

“About what?” It was probably stupid to try to keep playing dumb, but he still couldn’t let go of the shame and the secrecy of it.

“About Hux. Obviously you two were having a thing - I saw how you were on the _Steadfast_ and now…” he gestured at the comm in Poe’s hands. “You knew he was the spy, didn’t you?”

Poe had expected Finn to be betrayed if he ever found out about him and Armitage - to be angry - deservedly so - that Poe was having an affair with the man behind so much of his misery, but there was no anger in the other man’s face, no judgement, just concern. 

“Yeah,” he admitted with a sigh, gesturing for Finn to take a seat on the ladder beside the ship. “I knew he was the spy.”

“How long were you two…”

“Couple months. Since I got marooned with him on that ice planet,” Poe admitted, and it felt good to finally acknowledge it out loud. “At first I thought it was just… I don’t know… the cold making me go crazy, but…” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I loved him, Finn. I loved him and I let him go off and die. I keep thinking about that - about him on that kriffing ship - with no one - I should’ve-”

“You did what you had to do,” said Finn, “so did he. Him staying behind gave us the time we needed to get out of there.”

“Still, I should’ve tried - after everything he did - he saved us, Finn, the intel he gave us probably saved the Resistance and I didn’t even try. I called him a coward, the last time we talked,” Poe bit out through clenched teeth. “Right after he passed us the info on Palpatine, I called him, to try and convince him to let me get him out, but he just… wouldn’t accept. He tried to play it off like he’d just… made his peace with it, but I could tell he was fucking terrified. So I got mad - told him he was too afraid to live with himself. I didn’t even try to comfort him. I wanted to tell him he couldn't die, because I loved him - I loved him and we never even got the chance to try and just… be together. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t… Not until the end… I don’t know why I couldn’t’ve just told him how I felt sooner. Maybe if I had he would’ve…” He swallowed the fresh emotion that was rising hot in his throat. “I let him go off and die, alone and afraid because I was too stubborn to tell him I loved him until it was too late. He was never the coward. I was. I couldn’t let myself love someone who was just going to die.”

Finn sighed and reached over to give Poe’s shoulder a reassuring clasp.

“I’m not gonna pretend I understand what you saw in someone like Hux,” he said, meeting his eyes with a stare that was serious but warm, “but I understand the First Order - I understand it eats people, its own people most of all. I bet Hux thought there was no getting out for someone like him - even if he did defect - the Order had already taken too much. I don’t think there’s anything you could’ve said that would’ve changed his mind. But I bet you were the best thing that ever happened to him.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Poe was glad not to be alone. He turned the comm over and over in his hands. 

“Leia used to tell me the ones we love never truly leave us - they’re energy in the Force, all around us - not just Jedi, but normal people too. Armitage would’ve hated that - I think he’d rather truly leave than go into the Force or whatever. Still, it’s a nice thought.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, “it is.”

After another long pause Finn sighed and rose to his feet. “They want you to give a speech, _General Dameron_ , but it’s fine if you don’t feel up to it. I can tell them-”

“No,” Poe said, tucking the comm away in his pocket. “No, I’ll do it. Get everyone together and,” he paused, his fingers tracing the outline of the little device, “get the POW’s too. I think I’d better talk to everyone.”

Finn nodded. “See you there.”

Poe looked out at the crowd before him - dirty faces upturned towards the podium, eyes filled with hope, yes, but mostly with exhaustion, with shock, with grief. He recognized many of the faces in that crowd, but more than that, he was aware of how many faces weren’t there - the crowd of ghosts - of empty spaces, pressing in almost as much as the real people. This was a victorious speech, but it was also a eulogy, and it had to be so much more. The prisoners - the First Order members who had surrendered - were present too, as he had asked. They stood in the back, huddled together - more terrified than hopeful. But they made Poe hopeful - made him imagine a future where that huddled mass of former enemies could be part of building the _new_ New Republic.

If Armitage were here, he thought, the man would know just what to say to them - he could have been a beacon, a model of what could be if they cooperated. In a sentimental way that the other man would have hated, Poe thought it _was_ as if he were here - as if every one of those uncertain faces at the back of the crowd were a piece of Hux - urging him on, at once terrified and hopeful for the future ahead.

Poe cleared his voice and began. “I wish I could come up here, and cheer and yell and say ‘we won’ and leave it at that. But we all know that’s not enough. Not for this. There’s a lot of people dead today - a lot dead on both sides - good and bad - a lot of people who were neither - who were complicated, like most of us are. I’m willing to bet there’s not one person here today who’s not missing someone - who’s not hurting, just as much as they’re celebrating, who’s not thinking of someone who should be here celebrating with us. That’s how war is, isn’t it? Even when you win, you lose.” He took a deep breath, and steadied himself on the podium. 

“But I’m not just here to mourn the dead, or to tell you all we’re finished, you can pat yourselves on the back, or do your mourning and go home, back to business as usual. I’m here to make a case for the future - for what comes next. Make no mistake, we’ve defeated an undeniable evil here today. We saved the galaxy from a huge and immediate threat - and we should all be proud - but the work doesn’t end here. It can’t. Because it’s not enough to win a war if you aren’t taking steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

“One of the smartest men I’ve ever met died today - one of the bravest too - one of those complicated ones. Before he went, he told me to take care for what happens next, because winning the war won’t end what caused it. Like so many other times, he was right. Because evil doesn’t come from nothing - and it doesn’t just come from Sith lords or evil emperors - from things we recognize as ‘the dark side’ like in old Jedi stories - it comes from apathy, from casual cruelty - it comes from the things we tell ourselves we can tolerate because they aren’t right under our noses. Things like the First Order, like Palpatine, feed on desperation, on people who fall through the cracks, on the cruelty that already exists - that existed under the last republic and the Empire and the New Republic too. We’ve won the battle,” he said, his voice rising, swelling with conviction as all his grief burned with the rest of the passion in his heart, “we’ve won the war, but the work doesn’t end here. We can’t just go back to how things were. We’ve got to do better - all of us. We’ve got to insist on it.

“My mom - a veteran of the last civil war, and one of the strongest and kindest people in the history of the galaxy - told me once that the galaxy is fundamentally good - that people are fundamentally good, if you let them be. That was more true than I could ever have known when she told me. If we can do that - let people be good - make sure they don’t fall through the cracks where they can be kidnapped or lied to or brainwashed - if we can rebuild the New Republic into a system based on compassion and safety for every single being, not just profit and comfort of a few, then we’ll have defeated evil. Then we’ll have won the war. I’m not saying it’ll be easy - hell, it might be harder than the fight was - but if we can do that, and I know we can, I think the future’s pretty damn bright.”

There was a cheer from the crowd, but Poe hardly registered it. He looked up, over all the faces - Resistance and First Order alike - smiling and weeping and cheering - at the vast sea of stars overhead. It would be a long road ahead, but the galaxy was beautiful, and it was worth the work.

  
  



End file.
